


Of Roses and Butterflies

by echoesfadeaway



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Canon, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, if you're not interested in romance tropes then honey this is not the fic for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesfadeaway/pseuds/echoesfadeaway
Summary: The agreement is clear. Alex can move to the city as long as her identity as Fisk's daughter remains a secret. It should be simple. Instead, it's the last thing Wesley needs.A distraction.After all, who better to monitor her safety than the right hand man himself?
Relationships: James Wesley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> A couple of notes: For the purpose of this work, Wesley has been aged down to his early thirties. Please adjust your mental image to accommodate this change. Also, this work begins in the year pre-Season 1. There are going to be a lot of chapters.
> 
> A lot of chapters. Brace yourself.
> 
> I've been writing this fic for a while, so I'm dumping the first thirteen chapters, and then will update as normal. Please be patient with me. I'm expecting my first child in January, and am desperately trying to finish this before they arrive. However, there are no guarantees. Regardless, I will never abandon you. We will get through this craziness together.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE - ALEX - BEFORE**

* * *

Aleksandra Fisk had now seen her father a grand total of five times.

Technically, she wasn’t aware of their first meeting—the day she entered the world. The only proof was a solitary picture of him holding a small bundle in his large arms. Her mother said it was the softest expression she’d ever seen on his face. And in that instant, the man resolved to do absolutely anything for his daughter. 

The second time was her first day of kindergarten. She badgered him over the telephone, begging for him to visit. Not only was it her first day of kindergarten, it was her first day in any sort of American educational building. She had immigrated from Russia earlier in the year with her mother and grandparents. A truly momentous occasion for the little girl.

The day of his arrival, Alex’s nose was mere inches away from the screen door, waiting patiently for the car to pull up. In the years prior, the only communication they had was over the phone and the occasional postcard. Still, the little girl felt like she knew her father, and she knew he loved her.

“He’s just busy,” her mother told her. “But he loves you very much. That’s why you have so many nice things.”

More nice things accompanied his arrival to their home. Alex bolted out the door, stopping just short of where the front walk met the driveway. As he exited the car, Alex noted that he was much bigger than she had imagined.

He approached her slowly, as though he was terrified she would run away. And once he reached her, he kneeled.

“Sasha,” he said in a deep tone. The Russian nickname tumbled out awkwardly. The corners of his mouth pulled into an equally awkward smile. “I’m...um…”

A grin broke across the little girl’s face. “Papa!” And she jumped into his arms with no hesitation.

The third time she saw him was the summer after fifth grade. He picked her up and drove up to Michigan where they spent the weekend. It was just the two of them in a house on the lakeside. They went to an ice cream shop, and he let her pick whatever flavor and toppings she wanted. He took her to the beach and laughed as she discovered how chilly Lake Michigan actually was.

It was one of the best vacations she’d taken, and she kept all the pictures in a treasure chest underneath her bed.

The fourth time was a few weeks before her freshman year of high school. He said he wouldn’t be able to visit any later than that, and Alex was used to it. She was content to see him when she could, talk on the phone, and treasure each gift sent through the mail.

They went out to dinner. It was the usual: get what you want, don’t look at the price. It would have been fun if she hadn’t picked up on the tension.

As they waited for their food to arrive, Fisk admitted: “I won’t be able to see you again for...quite some time.”

“We don’t see each other a lot now,” Alex said, fidgeting with the straw paper she had left on the table.

Her father sighed. “I am sorry for that.”

“It’s okay.”

An awkward pause settled next to the appetizer between them. She hated it.

Her father was usually so sure of himself, always ready with a smart reply or quip. The conversations between him and her mother were quick and clever. This was _not_ the Papa she knew.

“Is it a work thing?” she asked.

Fisk paused and turned to look out the window.

They didn’t talk about his work. It was an unspoken rule between everyone. No one seemed to mind; not even her grandparents brought it up. But the question had started to itch in the back of her mind when her classmates began to ask what her dad did.

“Matt’s an engineer,” Alex replied.

“No, not your stepdad,” they said. “Your _dad_ dad.”

 _Oh_.

After choosing his words, Fisk responded, “I have the opportunity to expand my career in a way that requires more of my attention. I’m afraid that it also requires distancing myself for some time. I will, of course, continue to speak with you on the telephone—.”

“What do you do?” Alex interrupted. 

The man sat up straighter, adjusting his suit coat. “What do you mean?”

“What is your job? What is your career?”

The silence was back, but it was considerably heavier. Her fists clenched together in anticipation of the answer. She deserved an answer.

“You’re far too young to understand,” Fisk said. “It’s not safe for you to know. That is the main reason why I have to give myself time to build up my career before I can visit again.”

“Why?”

“My career is dangerous and there could be people I meet that may want to hurt you.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you are my daughter,” Fisk said exasperatedly. “And I care about you and in some professions having people you care about is _dangerous_.”

Alex tapped her fingers on the table. Then, “Are you a spy?”

“No.”

“Government?”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “No.”

“So, your career is dangerous, you’re not a spy, and you don’t work for the government.”

“Yes.”

Alex studied him for a moment, placing the pieces of this puzzle together. When it clicked, she leaned back slightly. She didn’t want to ask, but the look on his face was all the confirmation she needed.

“I will never hurt you,” Fisk insisted. “You will never, ever be dragged into this. I need you to know this.”

She fidgeted with the straw wrapper again. “You’ve been doing this all my life?”

“In some form or another, yes.”

“So...okay.” Alex took a deep breath.

“Please don’t let this...consume you, Sasha.”

Alex looked up quickly at the nickname use. It was always startling to hear it from her father’s mouth. It was Alex for the Americans, not Sasha. Not that he was disallowed, but the nickname felt most natural with her Russian family. It reminded her of swimming and camping trips, Russian Christmas and her grandparents’ silly superstitions.

Here with her very American, very criminal father, she did not feel very much like Sasha.

“I am still your father,” he said. “I love you. Very much.”

It would be seven years before they saw each other again. 

The following few months, she ignored his calls. There was fourteen years of secrecy she was trying to process. Her mother told her repeatedly that she was being ridiculous and rude.

“There are a lot of criminals in this world. You get used to it.”

“Are you a psycho?”

As she walked around the dining room chair, Katya took the opportunity to smack Alex upside the head.

“Who do you think taught him Russian?”

This was the story of Wilson Fisk and Katya Mikhailovna Tolstaya. They had met in New York City. A man taking what he believed to be his last look at the city and a young woman taking what she believed to be her first. It’s funny what can happen over a summer vacation. They got on a flight to Russia: Wilson with a dream and Katya with a new reality. She settled back into her family, and they kissed goodbye.

“No one is a saint,” Katya said simply to her daughter.

“You know a lot of criminals then?”

“Can you tell me what my cousin, Pyotr, does for a living?”

Alex stared until she realized she had no answer.

“He and your father got along quite well.” Katya sighed. “I could never live so close to that life, but he has a goal, and he plans on reaching it however he can.”

“What’s his goal?”

“I didn’t ask.” Her mother shrugged. “It’s better not to ask. And anyway, what does it matter? We’re taken care of, aren’t we?”

Alex hummed her response.

“More importantly, Sasha… he loves you very much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO - ALEX - JUNE 8**

* * *

The fifth time she saw her father, Alex’s attention was not on him, but rather, the bespectacled man in the suit beside him. One, she had not invited this person and was not anticipating his arrival. Two, he was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen.

A hand brushed across her back. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Alex jumped at the sensation of her boyfriend kissing her cheek. She quickly turned to smile at Patrick, hoping he hadn’t noticed her intensely staring at another man.

“Hey! Yeah, no problem,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

It was more than likely the last chance they would get to hang out before she moved. A going away party wasn’t exactly the most intimate location, but it was better than nothing.

After what felt like a forever long gap year, she was finally off to New York to start her higher education. It brought her closer to better career opportunities, and coincidentally, closer to her father.

She practically had to beg.

“I have explained this before. There are many people in this city who would jump at the opportunity to hurt you.”

Alex was creating crop circles in her carpet as she paced the floor of her bedroom. Unopened presents were piled in the corner. A “Happy 18th” balloon hovered dangerously close to her ceiling fan.

“I’m not asking for family dinners,” Alex pushed. “This is a big deal, Papa. What’s a better place for an artist than New York City?”

“California. Paris. Rome.”

“You said!” Alex snapped. It was a childish outburst, but she was too frustrated to feel embarrassed. “You said you’d pay tuition for any school I picked. I want to go to Columbia. You never have to buy me another birthday present for the rest of my life.”

“This is not about cost.”

“There are 29 Fisks in New York. No one will suspect a thing.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat so her voice wouldn’t come out so squeaky. Her ribs constricted from the stress. “I’ll live in the dorms. I’ll get a burner phone. I’ll get a PO Box. We never even have to speak again until I graduate. _Please_ , Papa.”

There was a long silence, and Alex held her breath through all of it.

“You will not live in the dorms.”

Alex jumped up and down, mouthing “Yes!”

“The security is laughable. Just, let me discuss this with my assistant and we’ll find a solution.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Two years later, the acceptance letter had arrived in a tidy little envelope that she made her mother and stepfather open for her. Her little sister sat next to her on the couch, holding her hand. Both girls had their eyes closed and fingers crossed.

“Dear Ms. Fisk,” Katya had read in a very official voice. Alex giggled. “On behalf of the Dean and the Committee of Admission, I want to congratulate you—.”

Happy screaming flooded the room. The same living room that was now filled with balloons and party favors. People filtered in and out, passing on their well wishes. It was all a bit of a blur, but this moment—the fifth time she’d seen her father—would stay in her memory forever.

“Whoa,” Patrick said, looking towards the front door. “Who’s the big scary guy in the suit?”

Alex smirked. “My father. He’s not that scary, promise. Want to meet him?”

Patrick eyed the pair of men warily. “I don’t know.”

Alex rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. A gesture that said he did not have a choice.

But, as they entered the foyer, the man by her side was no longer her concern. The moment she stood in front of her father it was like the seven year wait had never happened. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He returned the gesture.

“I missed you,” Alex mumbled.

“It won’t happen again,” Fisk responded. 

It was sincere, and happiness filled every inch of her heart.

She backed out of the hug and poked his suit coat. “The invitation said casual. You look like a lunatic.”

Fisk looked down at his suit and nodded. “I’m afraid this is the best I could do. My assistant would have a heart attack to see me in anything less.”

At the mention, Alex’s eyes flicked over to the slender man standing beside her father. He stood almost a foot taller than her, but his presence didn’t loom like Fisk’s. In fact, she really wasn’t getting a read on him at all. That didn’t stop her breath hitching when he nodded towards her and extended his hand.

“James Wesley,” he said pleasantly.

She reached out and shook his hand. With a smile, she replied, “Alex.”

Patrick suddenly shoved his hand forward towards Fisk. “I’m Patrick. I don’t know how much Alex has told you about me.”

“Who?”

“My boyfriend!” Alex motioned between the men. “Papa, this is Patrick Smart. You remember.” She gave a pointed smile.

“Yes,” Fisk said, finally shaking the young man’s hand. “Of course. Nice to meet you, Patrick.”

“Nice to meet you as well, sir.” Patrick lifted his chin at Wesley. “Hey.”

Wesley stared wordlessly.

In Russian, Fisk said to his daughter, " _I thought you would have gone for a nice Russian boy_."

“Papa!” Alex snapped.

“I caught that last one,” Patrick said with an awkward chuckle. “Are you Russian too?”

“No.” Fisk looked back to Alex. “ _As much as I would love to watch him fumble, please remove your boyfriend from this conversation._ "

Alex turned to Patrick. “So I know I dragged you over here, but we actually have something private to discuss. So, I’m gonna take them into the office.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later.” He kissed her quickly. “Again, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Fisk. We can talk more when you guys are done. I’d actually love to go out to dinner before you leave town. Just the three of us.”

“Won’t be possible,” Fisk said brusquely.

Patrick blinked heavily. “Ah, all right then.”

Alex placed a hand on his arm—a cue. He nodded, then returned into the crowd of partygoers.

The three remained motionless until he was out of sight and hearing range.

“I don’t like him,” Wesley said thoughtlessly.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend,” Alex snapped.

The man raised his eyebrows, not bothering to look at all ashamed. “No, he’s not really my type.”

Alex’s face grew hot and she looked away.

“His name is Patrick?” Fisk asked, still staring in the direction of Patrick’s exit.

“Yes. We’ve been going out since senior year,” Alex said. She lifted her finger to signal a correction. “Well, my senior year. He’s older.”

“How much?”

“Does it matter?”

“Is it serious?”

She scoffed. “After almost three years, I would like to think so.”

“It’s just that you never mentioned him,” Fisk said. Beside him, Wesley smirked.

Alex flexed her jaw. Yes, she had mentioned Patrick to Fisk. It wasn’t detailed because Fisk never asked for any. Fisk asked very pointed questions: “How are you?” “How is school?” “Any plans for the weekend?” Alex responded very specifically: “Doing well.” “School is good.” “My boyfriend and I are going to a movie with friends.”

Never a question about the boyfriend. Fisk either didn’t hear or didn’t care. Alex wasn’t going to gush over the phone to her father. Still, it stung.

“Whatever,” she said, choosing the easy option of letting it go. “Let’s just go talk.” She moved towards the office and the men followed.

She invited them to sit on the couch and pulled up an office chair for herself. There was an awkward pause where Fisk just stared at her. Alex’s eyebrows pinched together and she crossed her arms.

“What?”

“You’re upset,” he said. “ You care for Patrick, and I should be more respectful. I’m sorry.”

Alex gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure you’ll find this news to be comforting. Your tuition to Columbia has been posted as of this morning. You are officially enrolled in the Visual Arts program.”

Alex gasped and bounced in her seat. “Yay!” she squeaked, clapping her hands together. The reaction brought a smile to her father’s face, and seemed to startle Wesley.

“You really have Wesley to thank,” Fisk said. “He was the one who convinced me that this was a good idea.”

Alex looked to him, and Wesley shifted in his seat.

“I know how important a dream is,” he said.

It was an odd statement. Alex smirked and tilted her head towards him. “Well, thank you. I’m very grateful.”

Fisk continued, “We’ve decided the best course of action is for you to live with me. The penthouse has three bedrooms and there’s no reason why one of them can’t be yours. However, this is going to require heavy security measures.”

“Of course we’re not broadcasting your father’s personal address, but we can’t allow someone to track you to it,” Wesley explained. “To go to your classes, you’ll be picked up by one of our cars in the underground parking garage. Your route will vary, including your drop points. Nothing consistent, nothing consecutive.”

“Why don’t I just take the subway?” Alex asked.

“It’s the simple fact that no one can see you leaving or entering the building. Your only option will be in a car through that parking garage.”

“And if I want to go out alone?” She was starting to get irritated. This was supposed to be a favor, not a prison sentence.

Wesley’s face screwed up. He opened his mouth, presumably to say something cocky again.

“I think there might be a bit of a misunderstanding,” Fisk broke in. “You’re going to have a personal driver on call. The only time you’ll need a security escort is during your commute to and from school. Wesley is trained to notice a tail, and I would feel more comfortable having him with you during those crucial moments.”

Her heart fluttered. Him? She was guaranteed thirty minutes with him four days a week— _alone_. Her feelings waged war, trying to decide if this was good or bad.

“Miss Fisk? Are you alright?”

Alex realized she had not let go of her breath and was intensely staring at the wall behind Fisk and Wesley. It probably looked like she had had a stroke. She dragged her eyes back to meet Wesley’s. “ _Yes_.”

There was a pregnant pause as their eyes remained locked.

“Daijōbudesuka?”

Wesley nodded to Fisk. _Damn it_ , Alex thought, _now I have to learn Japanese_.

The man stood now and smoothed out his coat. “I believe that’s all from me. If there’s nothing left to discuss, I’ll wait in the car.”

“That will be fine, Wesley, thank you.”

“You’re leaving now?” Alex asked her father. “Mom will want to see you.”

Fisk hesitated.

“It’s not a problem, sir,” the assistant assured him. “Take your time. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Fisk.”

“Ditto,” she responded, snapping finger-guns in his direction at the same time he reached out to shake her hand. So then it transformed into the same time she determined that she hated absolutely everything about herself.

Wesley double-blinked, retracted his hand, and exited the office. 

Alex sucked on her teeth and got a head start on overanalyzing each of their interactions. Then the guilt hit. She had a boyfriend. What the hell was she doing?

“Thoughts?”

“Он милый,” Alex said, her eyes fixed on the door. _He’s nice_.

“I was talking about New York.”

_Yikes_. Alex nodded to Fisk. “Yes, it’s good. It sounds amazing. Thank you. For everything.”

Her father smiled. “You’re welcome.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, congratulations! We have finally reached Wesley's perspective. Though it is also maddening, there is not one single hint to Wesley's past in this show, and believe me when I say I am taking advantage of that.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE - WESLEY - BEFORE / JUNE 8**

* * *

Early 2000s, in a dark alley of New York City, eighteen-year-old James Wesley had been getting his ass kicked by some fellow degenerates. He was utilizing a scrappy fighting style, and had landed a few blows, but nothing that could turn the fight to his favor. A hit finally brought him down onto the ground, his face smacking into a puddle. This wasn’t his first beat down. He brought his knees in to protect himself from the incoming kicks. At least the hood of his sweatshirt had fallen over his face; they wouldn’t be able to see his expressions of pain.

But, before the kicks could come, there was a  _ crack _ and a scream.

Wesley froze. Was there a new contender? People didn’t usually fight for the privilege to beat up someone, but there was a first time for everything. His mind raced through the people he’d pissed off recently.

“What the hell?!” one of the teens cried.

“Go. Now!” was the bellowing reply.

They didn’t need to be told twice. Wesley heard the two boys’ footsteps splash through the puddles, retreating down the alley. He wanted to sigh in relief, but the attacker had not left yet. He heard the man’s shoes scuff on the asphalt. Maybe if he just laid there, he’d be spared.

“I know you’re conscious.”

_ Damn _ .

Wesley steeled himself with a breath, then pushed his hoodie off his face. In front of his eyes were obviously expensive black dress shoes. Not the shoe of your run-of-the-mill random passerby, not in this neighborhood. He moved his vision up and was now making eye contact with a businessman in a tailored suit.

A large businessman in a tailored suit.

A large,  _ scary _ businessman in a tailored suit.

“Do you need help?”

Wesley shook his head mutely. It was a ridiculous response. He was on the ground, face painted in dirty water and bruises. Of course he needed help.

The businessman gave a disbelieving hum. “I can’t guarantee they won’t bother you anymore. But one of them has a broken arm, so maybe they’ll think twice.”

“Thank you,” Wesley said hoarsely. He awkwardly got back to his feet, wincing with the movements. 

Once he was fully stood, the man lost a small bit of his intimidation factor. Wesley was only a couple inches shorter than him, but he had considerably less weight on him. For a brief moment, it felt like staring at a bulkier version of his father. Dressed in his scrappy, desperately needing washed clothes, Wesley felt an embarrassment blossom in his chest he hadn’t felt in a while.

He nodded. “Well, have a good night.”

“I can offer you a ride home,” the man said as Wesley turned to leave.

“Don’t have one, thanks.” His bag was stored behind a dumpster a few blocks down. His whole life was in it, and a blanket that he’d use to cover himself tonight. It was late enough now to decide where to sleep: underpass or try to convince a shelter to let him in?

Another hum. “What’s your name?”

The young man sighed and turned back. Shame on him for thinking his rescuer would just let him leave in disgrace. “James Wesley.” He tacked on, “The second.”

“How long have you been homeless, James Wesley II?”

Wesley shrugged. “Couple years. Bad scene at home. This is better.”

The businessman nodded. “And do you do anything for money? Odd jobs? Panhandle?”

_ Crimes?  _ was the unspoken question.

His bruises were beginning to throb. This conversation needed to wrap up  _ fast _ . “Uh, yeah, odd jobs.”

“And they?” The businessman pointed down the alley where the two boys had disappeared. “Associates?”

Wesley considered the man for a moment. He didn’t like where the questions were headed. “Look, if you’re a cop...”

The businessman laughed. “I am not a cop. I’d like to offer you an opportunity.”

His eyebrows pushed together. “Why?”

“You are very bad at fighting,” the businessman said. “But you make an effort.”

Wesley huffed in irritation and jerked his thumb towards the street. “How long were you watching?”

“I need people that are willing to make an effort even when odds seem to be against their favor,” he continued. “Perhaps you’d like to do something that would keep you off the streets, and possibly keep you from being jumped by associates.”

“Possibly?”

The businessman shrugged. “I want to be honest.”

Wesley nodded.  _ Possibly _ was better than continuously and more frequently than he felt he deserved. It would be nice to earn some cash that wasn’t stolen from an open window or handed over by some junkie outside of a club. Hell, even if it bought him one night in an actual bed…

“It’s not street work, right?” The businessman seemed offended by the statement, so Wesley didn’t wait for a verbal response. “Okay. Yeah, okay, I’m interested.”

The man’s name was Wilson Fisk, and he was a businessman for all intents and purposes. But the business opportunity he has enlisted Wesley’s help in was more than what Wesley had anticipated. He had seen himself grabbing coffee orders or driving Fisk from errand to errand. When the man pressed a gun into his hand, though, Wesley realized this was  _ not _ that sort of job. Fisk had a goal for New York City, and he needed a right-hand man.

A few years later, Wesley was wearing his own tailored suits. He parked his own car on the street outside his own apartment. This was beyond the life he’d lived pre-homelessness, and at some points he hardly knew what to do with himself. His heart ached with gratefulness, and Wesley made the resolution he would do anything for Wilson Fisk.

So when Fisk finally told him the truth--that he had a secret daughter in another state--Wesley promised to do anything for her too.

There was a bad meeting at one point. Wesley never asked for details, but he could see it in his employer’s eyes when he came back from the trip. The weekly calls were ignored. Usually he made them in private, but it must have been eating at him once particular afternoon. Fisk had pulled the phone out of his pocket in the middle of a car ride. Wesley heard him, in Russian, ask an unidentified woman if “she” was available. From the abruption of the phone call end, Wesley figured it was a no.

“She’ll come around,” he said awkwardly. “You’re a good father. I would know.”

“Thank you, Wesley.”

It was another five missed calls before the girl would finally accept the telephone from her mother’s hands and greet her father. 

Terrified of losing his daughter again, Fisk sent larger child support checks and began to put even more effort into her birthday gifts. Of course, business was picking up and Fisk had places to be. Wesley was put in charge of seeing the purchases through and getting them delivered in a timely manner.

Every year Fisk congratulated Wesley on a job well done.

“Her mother sent a video. She loved it.”

Wesley beamed under the praise. He didn’t know he could feel so accomplished by the task of buying presents. It was just one more sign that Fisk trusted him with more than just paperwork. The letdown was Fisk never shared the videos of the girl receiving her presents. 

It shouldn’t have mattered, but Wesley felt like he was missing out. It struck a nerve; reminded him that no matter how close he was to Fisk, he would never quite be family. Nearly a decade into their friendship, Wesley still concerned himself with making himself indispensable. The anxiety of being let go never quite left him.

And then suddenly, it was the March before the girl’s twenty-first birthday.

On her eighteenth, Wesley had convinced Fisk that moving his daughter to New York City was a not completely terrible decision. And if she was taking a gap year, there was more time to grow their enterprise and create a larger safety net. When Fisk finally conceded, Wesley managed to keep his expression to a content smile, rather than the grin he wanted to break into. He ignored the nagging voice telling himself that his convincing had more to do with his own fondness for the girl--the girl he’d never seen.

March of 2014, her acceptance letter arrived in the mail. Wilson showed him the video.

Wesley wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected the girl to look like. Wilson had never given any indication and there were no photographs of the girl to be found. If he were to really think about it, Wesley supposed he had expected a shorter, feminine version of Wilson.

She was not that.

On the left of the video frame, the girl sat on the couch, her legs pulled up to cover her face. A younger girl beside her held onto one of her hands, eyes also screwed shut. At the other end of the frame was Katya--or who Wesley assumed was Katya--who held a letter.

“Are you recording?” Katya asked the person behind the camera.

“Yep,” a man’s voice responded. Alex’s stepfather, Wesley realized. That meant that the younger girl was the half-sister.

“All right,” Katya drawled, slowly opening the envelope.

“Oh my god, I can’t do this,” Alex mumbled.

“Dear Ms. Fisk,” Katya read in a very official voice. The girls giggled. “On behalf of the Dean and the Committee of Admission, I want to congratulate you on your admission--.”

Before her mother could even finish the sentence, Alex skyrocketed from her seat and was bouncing--no, jumping--on the couch. Knees to chest, screaming in Russian: “Я собираюсь в Нью-Йорк! Я собираюсь в Нью-Йорк!”

_ I’m going to New York! I’m going to New York! _

Now, her face was revealed and Wesley realized he had been completely wrong. First, she was not just “a girl”. He would never demean her like that again. Alex Fisk was a striking young woman. Second, rather than looking like her father, Alex’s features were an elegant blend between her grandmother’s--Marlene Vistain--and Katya’s. Her hair now flowed, stopping just below her shoulders. Her emotional reaction and wide grin betrayed her child-like nature. Was she always this excitable?

_ She’s coming to New York. She’s coming to New York _ .

Wesley’s heart thumped loudly at the thought. It had been a long time since that had happened. He had spent more than a decade building up this calm and collected character. And now, this woman was undoing him before she’d even gotten off the plane.

“She’s having a going away party early in the summer,” Fisk said once he turned off the video. “I would like for you to accompany me so we can discuss her living and security arrangements. I want to make sure it’s done with enough time for her to change her mind, should she wish to. And, I think it would be a good idea for you two to meet just to establish a relationship.”

“Absolutely,” Wesley agreed.

As he walked through the door of the modest home, he convinced himself that the twisting of his stomach was a reaction to the meal on the plane. There was no reason for nerves. Though, he realized he was drastically out of place within this event. The other guests were dressed extremely casually, and he and Fisk stuck out like sore thumbs in their business formal attire. Oh well.

And then, in his searching through the room, there she was. Wesley’s stomach seized hard.

By some happenstance, she was standing in the living room, just in view of the foyer. He had seen her before she saw him. Somehow her hair was brighter in person, like a beacon calling him closer. It had grown and now laid elegantly against her yellow sundress. She truly stood out amongst the rest of the casuals.

Her eyes dragged around the room, noting each guest before landing on him and Fisk standing in the doorway. The corners of his mouth wanted to curl upwards, but it was lost when a young man appeared at her side and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Of course.

Wesley’s stomach sunk and he immediately chastised himself. It wasn’t food poisoning that plagued him; it was a gross miscalculation. He retreated into his mind as the young woman approached them, pulling her boyfriend along. It was time to collect himself and remember what he was here to do. This was his employer’s daughter--someone to protect. This was a job.

Fisk’s voice suddenly interrupted and Wesley’s mind re-entered the conversation at “I’m afraid this is the best I could do. My assistant would have a heart attack to see me in anything less.”

Now her eyes were on him. Fully, unarguably on him. There was a glimmer behind them, and her lips remained in their upward turn. She was mesmerizing. God damn it.

He fell into the comfort of his routine introduction and extended his hand. “James Wesley.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Alex.”

_ I know who you are _ , he wanted to reply. It would be a charming joke, something to make her feel comfortable around him. But before he could, the young man beside her broke in. Wesley released Alex’s hand like a hot iron.

After greeting Fisk, Patrick--that was the prick’s name--tilted his chin towards Wesley. No handshake for him. If Alex was ignorant of his vibes, Patrick was not. The man in the suit now had a place on the young man’s radar, and vice versa. Wesley made a note to investigate Patrick Smart later. There was no real reason for it, but maybe he’d find something. It was a favor for Alex. Yes, that was a good lie.

Patrick was eventually excused after yet another jab towards Wesley--a request for dinner that did  _ not _ include him. Wesley tossed a self-satisfied smirk the young man’s way when Fisk quickly dismissed the idea. Then, he was gone.

“I don’t like him,” Wesley said before he could think better of it.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend,” Alex snapped.

Wesley raised his eyebrows in recognition of that snap temper. She had a bit of Wilson Fisk in her after all, underlined by the faintest Russian accent. “No, he’s not really my type,” he responded, keeping his gaze steadily on her.

The young woman’s face flushed. Was that anger or embarrassment? After a quick exchange with her father, she hurried them into the office off the foyer. The conversation that followed threatened to be an argument until Fisk saved the day by clearing up the miscommunication.

“I think there might be a bit of a misunderstanding,” Fisk broke in. “You’re going to have a personal driver on call. The only time you’ll need a security escort is during your commute to and from school. Wesley is trained to notice a tail, and I would feel more comfortable having him with you during those crucial moments.”

Yes. The arrangement Wesley had volunteered for even before he’d seen the video. He was beginning to regret it. Only an hour, but that was an hour a day he had to be disciplined, distant. At the mention of the arrangement, the woman stiffened and stared at a spot on the wall just between him and Fisk.

What did that mean? Was she upset by this decision? Had she already found him despicable after his comment about Patrick?

“Are you okay, Miss Fisk?” he asked after a moment, fighting the urge to reach out to her.

She slowly dragged her eyes to his and it felt like the world paused for a moment. Four blue eyes locked into an impromptu staring contest. He searched desperately in her gaze for a meaning, a clue. There was nothing. Just a deep, unsettling ache.

“Daijōbudesuka?”  _ Are you okay? _

Wesley jumped slightly and nodded to his employer, ashamed to be caught in such a vulnerable position. He rattled off a quick goodbye, encouraging his employer to stay as long as he wanted. He ran a hand down his left side, trying to calm both his heart and stomach.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Fisk,” Wesley said. He stuck out his hand in anticipation for a second handshake. If anything, for an excuse to touch her again.

The young woman raised her hands to snap finger-guns at him. “Ditto.”

_ What the fuck _

Wesley’s mind blue-screened and went into auto-pilot, pushing him out of the office. As he walked to the door, he tried desperately to make some kind of sense out of the interaction, but there was none. He had never once in his life had someone snap finger-guns at him. Was it a way to avoid shaking his hand? Did she think he was a joke? Should he have done it back?

Aleksandra Fisk somehow had all of the attitude of her father, and none of the decorum.

“Who are you?”

Wesley turned. A teenage girl stood on the staircase behind him, frowning slightly. Brown hair, somewhat mousy face. It took a moment, then Wesley realized.

“Mia. Right?” he asked. “You’re Ms. Fisk’s little sister.”

Mia crossed her arms. “Who are  _ you _ ?”

“Wesley.” He extended a hand, but the girl stared him down until he pulled it away. All right, zero out of two. “I’m Mr. Fisk’s assistant.”

“Oh.” The defensive posture dropped and Mia continued her walk down the stairs. “Is he still here?”

“Ah, he’s in the office with your sister,” Wesley said. “He should be out soon.”

“He’s nice,” Mia said. “I met him once when he came to pick up Alex for a trip.” She sighed. “Alex is lucky. No way Mom and Dad can send me to an Ivy League.”

“I’m sure Katya will make sure you get just as quality an education.”

“The only one with real money coming is Alex, and almost all of it has been put in a nice and tidy investment account.” Mia shrugged and headed towards the party. “Nice to meet you, Wesley.”

“You too.” Wesley watched the young girl disappear around the corner and noted that the snark was clearly a gift from their mother’s side. However, the younger sister seemed to mellow out far quicker than the elder. Perhaps a trait from the stepfather?

Nature versus nurture then. Would Alex have absorbed the calm in her household, or was she genetically disposed to the volcanism of the Fisk bloodline? He wondered what a consistent exposure to Katya’s snark and Fisk’s temper would do to his sanity.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**Chapter Four - Wesley - June 24**

* * *

Father Time graciously offered Wesley a few weeks to collect his wits and prepare for his new normal. Alex had decided that she wanted one more birthday with her family and  _ Patrick _ . Wesley had done a thorough background check on Patrick Smart and found absolutely nothing. Just your average Midwestern guy with a diploma and degree in the small town he was born in, working in an office selling car insurance. Delightfully boring. Wesley liked to think he was saving Alex by bringing her to New York, away from the fate of being tied to that nonsense.

He now stood in JFK Airport, waiting for her to emerge from Arrivals. This was  _ not _ a job he had volunteered for, it was a request from Fisk. The logic being that a familiar face made kidnapping less likely. Though, Wesley had anticipated his employer communicating the information to his daughter. From the way her eyebrows shot up when she caught sight of him, Alex had not been expecting his presence.

No summer dress this time. The young woman had chosen black jeans, a muted green T-shirt, and a baseball cap. She clearly understood the current necessity of not standing out in the crowd.

Alex gripped her messenger bag closer and slowly approached. “James, right?” she whispered.

“Wesley,” he corrected quickly.

“Wesley.” She grinned. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

He smiled back and gave a single nod. “Nice to meet you again, Miss Fisk. Shall we?”

As they walked towards baggage claim, the young woman said, “You can call me Alex, if you want. Or even Sasha? That’s what my family calls me.”

_ Family _ .

That sounded nice. Still, Wesley declined. “I’d prefer to keep it professional.”

A hurt twing went across her expression. “Oh. Okay. I’m just not used to it except from, like, teachers. I guess Papa expects it though.”

“I think that around your father it would be wise to address you formally,” Wesley agreed.

“And not around my father?” Alex queried.

Wesley’s breath hitched at the suggestion. An hour a day, at least, they would be completely out of Fisk’s view. A partition between them and the driver--informality would go completely unnoticed. They would be  _ completely _ unnoticed.

“Miss Fisk will do,” he insisted.

Alex tightened her lips into a grumpy look. “All right then.” She suddenly stopped to grab her phone from her back pocket and held it out to him. “Before we head out, can you take my picture?”

Wesley paused, staring at the device.

Alex lifted her eyebrows and shook the phone lightly. “Well?”

“I don’t think posting to social media would be wise.”

“Everyone knows I’m going to Columbia. Can you take the picture.” She wiggled the phone again. “ _ Please _ ?”

Wesley grabbed the phone from her hand and opened the camera application. “Say cheese,” he said dryly.

Alex stared down the camera with a slight upturn of her lips. She somehow looked elegant despite the late hour. Wesley tapped the screen quickly and handed back the phone.

“Thanks,” she said dismissively as she checked the picture.

Wesley waited for a moment, then pressed, “We need to move.”

“Can I just upload this real quick?”

“Can it wait?”

Alex dropped her arms to her sides and glared up at him. He was again reminded of his employer. Behind those blue eyes was clearly an untapped fury. In his moment of irritation, Wesley had forgotten: this woman could very well get him terminated.

“I didn’t mean to use that tone,” he said respectfully. “It’s a matter of security. We’re risking being seen together the longer we loiter. Please. Upload the picture in the car.”

She took another moment before shoving her phone in her pocket with a huff. “Fine.”

Quietly, he thanked her.

It was awkwardly silent from that point until they were safely inside of the many Escalades Wilson Fisk was so fond of. Alex smiled brightly at her father as she settled into her seat across from him and Wesley.

“How was your flight?” Fisk asked.

“Good,” Alex said. “I tried to keep myself awake so I could rest easy tonight.”

“Your things arrived yesterday. I left them in your bedroom to organize how you wish.”

Alex smiled. “Thank you.” She placed her head snugly between the window and the headrest. As they entered the highway, she glanced lazily at the passing cityscape.

Wesley followed her gaze. He had always hated the city. The smell, the crime, the people. It had been an easy place to disappear into, escape the missing persons report, but that was its only purpose for him. Her survey of it was peaceful, and he wondered if she would be like her father and fall in love with the bustling metropolis. Or perhaps she was simply blinded by naïveté that would fade within the upcoming weeks. 

With a sigh, he leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows resting against his thighs. “I would like to discuss a few things.”

The eye-roll Alex delivered was highly exaggerated. Wesley sucked on his teeth in an attempt to hold back a smartass comment. She was steadily losing her endearing-ness with his behavior.

“Social media, first of all.”

“Oh my god,” Alex whispered. She took a quiet breath. “Papa, please tell your assistant that the world will not burn down because of a selfie.”

“Let him speak,” Fisk said gently.

Wesley smiled at Alex.  _ That’s right _ .  _ Your father listens to me _ .

“It’s alright to take pictures of the city, your school, and your friends,” he said.

“Oh, wow, thank you.”

Why was she making this so difficult? “You need to turn off your location. And you cannot under any circumstances take a full picture of your bedroom, the penthouse, or the car. And obviously, a picture of your father or myself.”

Alex sat straight up and snapped, “First of all, bold of you to assume I’d want a picture of you.”

“Aleksandra,” Fisk said in a warning tone.

Her expression dropped into one of hurt. “Do you both think I’m stupid? I’ve thought this through. You’re doing me a huge favor and I’m not going to blow that.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Wesley said as soon as she’d finished. He shook his head for emphasis. “I do not think you’re stupid. We just need to make sure everyone is on the same page.”

Alex set her jaw, then relaxed back against the seat. “Okay, sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just tired.”

“That’s understandable,” Fisk said with a nod. “However, a kinder tone would be appreciated when discussing any sort of security matter with me or Wesley. I was not lying when I said your safety was on the line.”

“No, I get it,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Alex nodded towards Wesley. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled softly and nodded back. “Thank you.”

Then there it was again: the awkward silence. Their eye contact held on just a moment too long before she turned back towards the window. Minutes later, Fisk inquired after the young woman’s birthday and last few weeks at home. The car was filled with their conversation and Alex growing more animated as she related her fun. Wesley kept silent, content to simply watch. His heart ached at the scene, the way they could jump back into it like no time had passed at all. Bubbling up was resentment that he had been denied the same parental interaction. He pushed it back down.

Almost an hour later, they arrived at the skyscraper Fisk currently called home. Alex craned her neck to take in a full view of the skyscraper before the car dipped into the garage.

“You’re kidding,” she whispered, more to herself than to them.

“This isn’t quite permanent,” Fisk said. “There is construction of a new high rise in Hell’s Kitchen. I anticipate it being ready at the end of the year.”

“Also, all of the staff have been  _ very _ well compensated to keep their curiosity to themselves,” Wesley said. “However, I would still advise remaining discreet.”

There was no response from the young woman. She followed them silently through the hallway towards the elevators. Wesley could hear her trying to even her breaths. If he really thought about it, he realized she’d never seen her father’s place before, and now she would be living here.

When they entered the elevator, Wesley handed her a key that had been sitting in his pocket. “The elevator only goes so high without this.” He pointed to the lock above the rest of the buttons. “You put the key in here, turn, then press the penthouse button. There are emergency stairs in the hallway, of course. The key will work there too.”

She nodded mutely and put the key in her pocket.

After a quick ride, the elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor. Fisk did the honors of unlocking the front door and holding it open for his daughter.

“No. No!” Alex yelled as she spun around the gallery. Abandoning her luggage, she walked to the left, practically stumbling into the great room.

Wesley couldn’t hold back from grinning at her reaction. She looked like a child at Disney World—wise eyes unable to take everything in. Her hands outstretched towards the large glass windows that encompassed the great room. Beyond was the ever awake, sprawling city.

“I’ve never been in a building this high,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I am glad you think so,” Fisk said.

Alex turned back to hug her father. It was a tight hug, sincere. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” As his daughter backed out of the hug, Fisk said, “You must be exhausted. I’ll show you your room, and we can do a full tour tomorrow.”

This was his time to exit gracefully. Wesley took a step forward. “Sir?”

“Yes, thank you, Wesley,” Fisk said. “I’ll be in contact in the morning.”

He nodded. “Goodnight, sir.” He watched as his employer and the young woman moved towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Before she could disappear around the corner, he suddenly blurted:

“Goodnight, Miss Fisk.”

Alex looked at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then, they dropped and a faint smile crossed her face. A small moment that said she forgave him for the night’s irritation, and it was enough for him to forgive her as well.

After a gentle pause, she said quietly, “Goodnight, Wesley.”

Okay, maybe he could do this.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**Chapter Five - Alex - July 4**

* * *

The summer sun streamed into her overly exposed bedroom. There had been curtains on the windows when she’d arrived, but they were translucent and wispy, and that just wasn’t going to cut it. She asked for something with more substance, so she could exist in her own space without worrying about some rando with a telescope looking in on her. Additionally, this meant every morning she could dramatically fling them open and drown the room in sunlight.

She lay in the sunny spot on her bed, bathing in the morning star’s warmth. It was part of her routine at this point. Wake up, eat breakfast, mope, eat lunch, mope, eat dinner, mope, mope, mope. Her steps would drag around the apartment and her mind flicked through the possibilities for the day. But all she knew of the city was tourist bullcrap, and seeing the Statue of Liberty alone was not nearly as exciting.

Her father was a passing shadow, with his assistant following close behind. Bodyguards hovered throughout the building, more like decorations than actual people. Attempts at conversation were politely reciprocated, but ultimately fell flat.

She missed her little sister. She missed her friends.

An obscure American flag was drawn over the date on her calendar. If she was back home, there would be no need to mope on her bed. Plans would be made and put into action. A boat down at the reservoir would be waiting for them, courtesy of her friend Maria’s father. It would be filled with young people in patriotic swimsuits, drinking cheap beer. Entertainment would come in the form of backyard fireworks and blinding camera flashes.

Now her stomach ached.

A gentle  _ click _ drifted through the air and Alex listened closely as someone entered the apartment. The footsteps trailed from the entry gallery and rounded the corner. She turned her head to stare down where the main hallway crossed hers. Just in time to see Wesley walk past.

She practically launched herself off of the bed and hurried towards the intersection of hallways. Her heart pounded, surprising herself. Why was he here in the middle of the day? Alone?

Beyond their two meetings, she and Wesley hadn’t really spent time together. They saw each other in passing when he would arrive at the penthouse. Pleasantries exchanged, then he was off. She never once considered him anything more than a member of her father’s staff. Though it was clear her father had a certain fondness for him that was not extended to other bodyguards.

She hadn’t considered a friendship with the man before. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

When she entered the main hallway, it was empty. She could see that the office door at the far end was open. The sound of papers rustling and items being moved signaled the man’s location. Quietly, she stood in expectation. It was only a moment more before the man reappeared, attention on the open binder in his hands.

“Hi, Wesley!” Alex exclaimed.

The man jumped slightly. He closed the binder and squinted at her from behind his dark frames. “Miss Fisk.”

Alex grinned and clasped her hands together. “Do you have the day off?”

Wesley held up the binder wordlessly, and the young woman’s smile dropped. “Did you need something?”

Her shoulders pulled forward and she tilted her head. “I’m just bored.” God, this was embarrassing. Why did she think this was a good idea? “I thought we could hang out.”

Wesley stared at her for a moment and took a deep breath, readjusting his glasses as he did so. He offered a sympathetic smile. “Not right now. I’m sorry.”

Alex’s returning smile was awkward. With a single shoulder shrug, she said, “It’s okay. I’ll—.”

Wesley interrupted, “I could suggest to your father that we watch the fireworks tonight.”

Alex paused at the plural noun. A couple butterflies in her stomach began to open their wings. “We?”

“Us and your father. Is that all right?”

The grin returned with more intensity. She clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Yes! That would be awesome! Fantastic!”

Wesley smirked. “If he approves, I’ll have him send a text.”

“Oh, you can just text me.” Alex rushed forward with her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He stared down at her hand. “I’ll just type it in myself.”

“Okay.” She waited for him to take out his phone and signal he was ready. “317.” Holy shit, she was giving him her number. “555.” Why was that so exciting? “0128.” Maybe she was actually making a friend here.

She squealed, startling Wesley again. “I’m so excited. I love fireworks.”

“Well, we’ll have a pretty good view from the terrace,” he said. He waved the binder again. “For now, I need to give this to your father. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes. Awesome.” She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him for a brief hug. His body stiffened underneath her arms. Not a good sign.

Alex released him immediately, and tried to kill the awkward moment with a smile. A sincere one. “Thank you.”

Wesley’s lips parted like he was about to speak. Instead, he nodded and stepped around her.

Alex waited until she heard the door close and the lock click shut before she returned to bouncing up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!” she cheered, throwing punches into the space around her. Though Wesley had said he’d have to ask, Alex doubted her father would say no. Who could say no to fireworks?

Now to create the perfect Fourth of July party. She thought back to a year when she and her friends decided to create the most obnoxious patriotic outfits possible. Yes, that would be a perfect way to get her father and Wesley out of their comfort zone. She’d finally see them in some normal people clothes.

Within the hour, she was running in and out of stores with her personal driver waiting in the car outside. The men needed to look extremely obnoxious. She was working off of memory though when it came to their sizes. In theory, she could have checked her father’s closet, but that felt horribly invasive. She grabbed the largest shirt on the rack and hoped that would work.

Then, there were snacks. There was always fresh food in their refrigerator, but that did not capture the spirit Alex was looking for. Plus, that required cooking.  _ Ew _ .

The driver looked concerned when she returned to the Escalade with two bags of chips, a wide assortment of candy, and beer.

“It’s not all for me. Oh!” Alex held the bag open towards him. “I should’ve asked if you wanted anything. Here, grab what you want.”

He shook his head. “I’m okay. Thank you, Miss Fisk.”

Alex shrugged and put the bag back on the seat. “Suit yourself.”

“Where to, Miss Fisk?”

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number, quickly identified by its message’s contents.

**Your father said we can watch the fireworks.**

She tried to even her breaths. The full kaleidoscope of butterflies was having a field day in her stomach, and some escaped into her chest.

“Miss Fisk?”

“The penthouse,” Alex said dismissively. Her fingers tapped the keyboard violently.

**Awesome! I looked it up and they start at 9:30. Will you be home by then?**

**Yes. We will try to arrive earlier. 9:00pm most likely.**

She squeezed her eyes closed and let out a tiny squeak of excitement. Next she saved the number under “J. Wesley” followed by a glasses emoji.

**Save this number under my security code name.**

Oh, yeah.

The week prior to her arrival her father had asked her to pick a code name. Something everyone could use to identify her over comms or telephone. It made her smile to think of her texts showing up as “Persephone” on Wesley’s phone.

She changed his name to “Watcher.” It was pretentious, but it got the point across.

The next hours were excruciatingly slow, and the giant clock in the entry gallery mocked her with every tick. She tried to entertain herself by setting up the terrace.

The outdoor chairs were grouped together; the snacks and beer were placed on the coffee table in front of them. Sparklers were next to her chair so she could proudly pass them out before the fireworks started. Laid out in the men’s chairs were the obnoxious outfits. At the very least, it would make her laugh to see them. She hoped to use the fact that it was her first Independence Day in New York City to guilt them into participating.

But as the clock ticked closer to 9, she felt the kaleidoscope begin to die. Her stomach clenched in anxiety instead. There had been no further communication from Wesley, and she didn’t want to be obnoxious and test before the deadline.

But then it was 9 and they hadn’t arrived and they hadn’t reached out.

The morning after she moved in, her father asked her to only text in emergencies or questions that needed immediate answers.

“I will always come home,” he said. “And if something does happen, one of my men will let you know. But, I do not need any suspicions on why my phone is receiving more messages than normal.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed. “Emergencies or ‘have you seen my unicorn socks’ questions only.”

Right now, she wasn’t sure if this was a question that needed immediate answering. Fourth of July never came up in conversation. She didn’t really know what this holiday meant to her father. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe it was just another evening to him. He certainly had more important things on his agenda, and maybe watching fireworks with his daughter wasn’t one of them.

That was fair.

_ I guess _ .

Alex tucked her knees under her chin, an awkward position in this chair. She thumbed through Instagram, watching friends and celebrities posting about how much fun they were having. Above the application, her clock told her that she would be spending the evening alone.

9:05. Maybe traffic was bad.

9:10. Fourth of July. Very bad traffic.

9:15. Maybe a car accident? Extremely bad traffic?

9:20. She would take a picture, post it with some quote that made her sound deep and inspired, and then crawl into bed to cry herself to sleep.

At 9:25, the terrace door was shoved open and Alex whipped her head around to see Wesley. His eyebrows were pinched with stress.

“I’m incredibly sorry, Miss Fisk. I tried to get here sooner.”

Alex shoved her arm over her cheeks to wipe away tears that had fallen. “It’s okay. You’re fine. The fireworks are starting soon though.” She forced a smile. “Where’s Papa?”

“He couldn’t make it,” Wesley said. “He sends his apologies. I can leave if you want.”

“No!” She winced at the volume and how it created a panicked expression on Wesley’s face. She hadn’t expected herself to scream anymore than he had. “No. Please stay.”

Wesley studied her. “Have you been crying?”

Alex grabbed his outfit from the chair and tossed it at home. “You have five minutes to change into this. Go.”

“Miss—.”

Now she did mean to scream. “God damn it, I want my Fourth of July celebration! Put on the outfit  _ now _ !”

Flustered, Wesley hurried inside the penthouse. Alex collapsed back into her chair and exhaled heavily. 

A part of her was hurt that her father hadn’t given her the courtesy of a personal text saying that he couldn’t make it. Another part was simply happy to have Wesley as company. Maybe he would be totally bored, but at least  _ someone _ would be sitting next to her while she enjoyed the show. That was good enough.

A few minutes later, Wesley emerged and a laugh burst from Alex’s lips. The man’s face contorted.

“Miss Fisk,” he said, very testy, “I don’t think this is the most befitting outfit for me.”

It was a beach party look. If she was honest with herself, Alex had designed the outfit purely on how much she wanted to see him in casual wear. There he was in a blue T-shirt, red swim shorts, and blue slides. In his hand were a white pair of sunglasses for the perfect accessory.

“And these? It’s nighttime,” Wesley said, shaking the glasses.

“Put them on your head, Mr. Wesley, and get over here.”

Alex found humor knowing that the assistant had yet to determine what he could say no to without getting into trouble with her father. Though he was probably snarking at her in his mind, Wesley placed the sunglasses on top of his head and settled in the seat to the right of her.

It was now that she noticed the sleeve of tattoos climbing up his left arm. Wrist to shoulder--well, she assumed to his shoulder--were large roses with black shading, interrupted only by a clock pointing to 10:13 and a dove on his forearm. She couldn’t see his right arm, and didn’t know how to ask if she could. Anyone else would’ve been immediately badgered by questions about the images and meanings, but it felt odd with him. She stared at the clock and wondered about the specific time.

“What’s this?” Wesley asked, pointing to the collection of junk food.

Alex broke her stare and smiled brightly. “Fourth of July treats! If you had been here on time, you could’ve made yourself an actual plate, but oh well.” She held out a bottle she had cracked open while he’d gone to change. “Beer?”

“I’m technically working.”

“No, you’re celebrating.” Alex held it closer. “Beer?”

After a brief hesitation, Wesley accepted it. “We did want to be here on time. Things got...sticky.”

“I don’t want to know,” Alex said, waving any further explanation away. “Whatever you and Papa do keeps the fridge full and my tuition paid, and that’s all that really matters.” She paused and looked at him. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Do you think your father and I are bad people?”

The intensity in his eye contact sent a shiver down her spine. It was a legitimate question; he waited patiently for her answer. She held his gaze as she sorted through all she’d learned about morality. The answer was uncomfortable and obvious, even if they couldn’t say it out loud.

_ Yes _ .  _ We are bad people _ .

A line of fireworks burst above the East River and Alex gasped in excitement. More fireworks lit up the sky, booming and cracking. Reds, blues, golds. She fumbled for her phone, but was beaten to it.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I’ll take them,” Wesley explained, pulling the phone out of her reach. He pointed towards the explosions. “You watch. I’ve seen this before.”

Alex hummed in discontent, but allowed it. Her eyes returned to the sky being filled with the scattering of colors. It was far beyond the small displays they’d seen on the reservoir. Throughout the streets below, people cheered, and it made her heart swell with a newfound camaraderie. As the next round of fireworks popped, she joined in the loud cheer.

“Have you ever visited New York?” Wesley asked minutes later.

“No. Mom said we didn’t have the money, and by the time Papa was settled here, he didn’t want me to visit.”

“That was for the best.”

“Are you from New York?”

“No.”

Alex glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The man tapped the screen of her phone, catching the next large burst of color. There was no indication he planned on elaborating on his answer.

“Where are you from?” she pressed.

“Connecticut.”

There was a finality in his response that warned to not push any further. But damn was she ever curious. The answer only sparked more questions.

_ What part of Connecticut _ ?  _ Did you go to Yale? Did you go to Hartford? Is your family there? Is your family here? Do you have family? _

It took effort to step back and go down a different avenue of questioning.

“Do you like New York?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “But your father wants me here, so here I am.”

“I bet the alien attack didn’t help anything.”

Wesley shook his head. “No. No, it did not.”

“Where were you?”

“Standing in my apartment, looking at my agenda. I cancelled all of our appointments.”

Alex gave a sharp laugh. She wasn’t sure if it was an intentional joke. It would be the first one she’d heard from him. “Thank you.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“You just make it sound so casual.” When he still looked confused, Alex explained. “Imagine you’re states away from your father. And suddenly there are aliens coming down and his city is being literally destroyed. You’re trying to call him and he’s not picking up his phone.”

She took a deep breath. “When he finally did, my mom couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to talk.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wesley said. “I know your father felt terrible about scaring you.”

“It’s been two years. Still.” Still she had nightmares. Still her chest constricted if her mom didn’t pick up the phone on Alex’s first attempt. Still she kept up with any news surrounding the Avengers and mutants and aliens.

Wesley returned her phone. “I took a video too.”

“Thank you.”

They sat quietly again. Wesley drinking the beer and Alex holding a giant bag of M&Ms like a holy relic.

“Are you going to share?”

Alex giggled. Both at his question and she was beginning to suspect he found long silences awkward. “Get a plate. I didn’t buy all of this for my health. Ba dum tss.”

Wesley grinned and shook his head. Immediately Alex promised herself she would get him to laugh—really laugh—one day. She watched the man scoop the M&Ms onto his plate, then reach for the chips.

“Big fan of Doritos, I see,” Alex said. “Interesting.”

“Miss Fisk,” Wesley said in a drawl that made her stomach twist.

“Yes, Mr. Wesley,” she imitated.

“Why did you invite me to spend time with you?”

That was not the sentence she was expecting. Well, she didn’t know what she was expecting. Not a question that was going to force her to give up the embarrassing explanation.

“I don’t have any friends here,” she said slowly.

“One of the men could have taken you down there,” Wesley said, motioning towards the East River. “There’s thousands of people watching the same show. I’m sure you could have made a friend.”

“Maybe,” Alex admitted. Damn it, he wasn’t getting it. “You’re different from the other guys. You actually talk to me. And Papa likes you. I figured—I mean—.”

_ I need a friend _ .

“None of the other guys would have suggested watching fireworks with me,” she finally said.

Wesley shrugged. “It seemed like a simple suggestion.”

“It was a nice one.” She reached over the side table to lightly punch his arm. “Even though you tried to stand me up.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Another boom resounded, and Alex wished it had physically shaken the terrace. Shake them right out of whatever moment was happening. She glanced over, grateful to find that he didn’t seem to be as emotionally invested in that sentence as she was. He was just being kind.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said carefully.

“Sure.”

“How old are you?”

Wesley groaned and threw his head back. His voice came out pained. “How old do you think I am?”

Alex thought about it for a moment. He was obviously older than her. He’d never referenced anything era-specific. No bands, no TV shows. She didn’t want to guess too high and risk offending him. She didn’t want to guess too low and risk looking stupid.

“Thirty?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, sounding impressed. “I’m sorry you have to spend your Fourth of July with a senior citizen.”

The sentence shocked her into laughter. Okay, the cancelling appointments was a quip, but this… this was fully intended to produce a reaction. “I think that’s the first  _ real _ joke I’ve heard you make,” she teased. “I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor.”

“That hurts,” Wesley said, pressing a hand to his heart.

“Hey, ten years age difference isn’t really anything though. Look at some of these celebrity marriages.”

The moment the words left her mouth she realized their implication. Heat spread across her back, complimenting the flush on her face. She now had to decide to say nothing and play it off or say something and risk introducing a possibility he hadn’t thought of.

“Patrick’s 25!” she blurted, immediately regretting it. It was supposed to be casual, to let him know that she was used to hanging out with older guys. But it came out so forcefully, she sounded deranged.

Wesley pursed his lips. “Hmm.”

“Um. I….” She raised her eyes to the stars, praying for death from above. A nicely timed meteor, or a poorly built satellite.

“The show’s really nice this year,” he said, saving her.

Alex turned her focus back to the fireworks. A steady breath brought her heart rate down. “Yes. It is.”

“Beautiful night too.”

“Yes.”

“Miss Fisk?”

There was that tone again. Alex closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for the next sentence. “Yes?”

“I’m burning these clothes.”

Her laughter exploded like the fireworks.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

**Chapter Six - Alex - July 18**

* * *

Beyond missing her friends, Alex was deeply missing her boyfriend. She and Patrick had been dating since her senior year of high school. They’d met at a party hosted by a friend’s older sister. He was twenty-two at the time. Fresh out of college and ready to take on the insurance world.

Alex had been hovering near the drinks, waiting patiently to pour herself another one. Then there he was, sliding up beside her and flashing a prize winning smile.

“Hey. How are you tonight?”

The smooth talking was well practiced and confident. It wasn’t hard to see why. With the sandy blonde hair and green eyes, this was not a man who was very familiar with rejection.

“Good,” she said, smiling a little awkwardly. “How are you?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I have your number at the end of the night.”

It was cheesy and horribly stupid, and damn if it worked. She was eighteen and easily charmed. Alex adored him from that moment onward.

Thankfully, he was more three dimensional than that conversation led on. Patrick Smart had graduated Cum Laude and landed a job the moment he graduated. His family wasn’t exactly wealthy, but they had helped him through college. No more, Patrick told them once he graduated. From then on out, he was on his own. He refused to accept any sort of monetary gift from them or his grandparents. He asked that any graduation monetary presents be sent to a charity of their choice instead.

He enjoyed art and was always complimenting Alex on her projects. He encouraged her to submit her works to contests and keep the money for college. He was a big fan of fiscal responsibility.

He was too good to be real. Alex spent a year waiting for the facade to fall, but it never did. Patrick remained the supportive Prince Charming she’d always wanted.

Their phone calls were regular, but it just wasn’t the same. She wanted him to visit before the school year started.

She had chosen to wait until Fisk seemed to be in a good mood. He’d arrived home that Fourth of July night looking agitated. Even Wesley avoided starting a conversation and had quietly slipped away soon after. The next morning was the same. Fisk stomped around the kitchen, making his breakfast and eating in stormy silence. If it was her mother or stepfather, Alex would’ve asked and be a supportive daughter. But whatever had upset him was clearly involved with his work, and she had no idea how to be supportive with that.

Finally though, there was a morning free of tension. Her father sat in his usual spot at the head of the table. Alex had woken up early so she could join him and Wesley. It was unusual for Wesley to be there, but Alex didn’t question it. The presence of the assistant foreshadowed her father’s absence. She wondered if either of the men ever took a day off and went on a walk or something. For someone who professed to love the city, Fisk never seemed to be taking in the beautiful parts.

The conversation was light, and Fisk had even made a few jokes, so Alex knew it was now or never. She casually extended the idea of her boyfriend visiting. The ‘No’ was so prompt it gave her whiplash.

Alex swallowed her food quickly and complained, “That isn’t fair!”

Wesley rolled his eyes at her and she glared at him. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but the potential friendship had withered over the past two weeks. There was no indication of why. Yes, he had left the apartment quickly after seeing his employer upset, but their final interaction had been pleasant enough.

She had thanked him one last time, risked another quick hug. But this time he had backed up and grabbed her hands instead. He pushed them together in an awkward double handshake and smiled.

“Happy to be there, Miss Fisk,” Wesley said, before dropping her hands like they were hot coals.

Was it because her father had still been in the room?

Each morning after that, it was a polite greeting, then he and her father left or holed up in the office. Alex tried to initiate real conversation, but it never went anywhere. If she was honest, her heart was beginning to crack.

“I know you care about Patrick,” Fisk said now. “But I do not believe it wise to bring a boyfriend into the circle that knows of this particular arrangement. Or allow him to stay here. It could prove to be a liability down the road.”

Alex’s mouth fell open and she coughed in disbelief. “Wow, Papa. Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean you can assume we’re going to break up.”

“Statistically speaking…,” Wesley muttered.

“Statistically speaking, kiss my ass,” Alex snapped back.

His eyebrows shot up and jaw flexed. In his darkening expression, Alex realized he hadn’t been intentionally pissing her off and the aggressive words had hit something in his core. Guilt crashed over her.

“Wesley, please wait for me in the car.”

The man pushed away from the table and left without a single word towards the young woman. She turned in her chair just to watch him leave. The muscles in her body tensed as she considered running after him and apologizing. There had to be a way to convince him that the words had jumped out involuntarily. It didn’t signal any sort of real malice.

_ I still like you _ .

Beside her, Fisk placed his fork down and waited until the front door closed. “Aleksandra.”

Oh damn.

She was twenty-one years old, but she was still familiar with being in trouble with her parents. And though Fisk loved his daughter, he was not afraid of scolding her. She’d been grounded over the phone more than once. The tone was dark and restrained. Not frightening, but obviously angry.

Alex immediately looked to her plate and spun her fork in her hand.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed, wishing he had just let her be. Her father’s stare was dark and showed obvious restraint. This was clearly a milder version of the stares he gave others who angered him.

“It would be best if you ceased talking to Wesley in that manner,” he said in a way that said it was not actually an option.

Pressure built behind her eyes and her chest ached in the attempt not to cry. “I’m sorry,” Alex rasped.

“He is not some random person. I chose Wesley. I took Wesley in when he needed it most.”

Alex’s curiosity peaked at that. Took him in?

“I could not ask for a more loyal employee,” Fisk continued. “Beyond employment, I consider Wesley a friend. To treat him with such disrespect will  _ not _ be tolerated in this home.”

Alex nodded once. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it certainly won’t.”

“He can come back upstairs,” she insisted. “I’ll apologize. And I apologize to you. I like Wesley too. We had a really nice time a couple weeks ago.”

“He said you enjoyed the fireworks. But no, he’ll remain in the car. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

It was a risk to be mouthy so incredibly soon, but Alex muttered, “Of course you will.” At her father’s silence, she added, “Do you think we’ll actually spend time together? Like when you would visit?”

Fisk sighed. “When I visited you, I was on vacation. Wesley was here to manage things. Now I’m here, and I manage things. Things that require my attention.”

“So, no.” Alex nodded and dropped her flatware onto her plate unceremoniously. She pushed away from the table, more forcefully than Wesley had moments before. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“I apologize if I’ve made you feel ignored,” Fisk told her as she took her dish to the sink. “Or unimportant. It is not my intention.

Alex threw her hands into the air. “Well, it sure feels like it, Papa!”

“If I did not care about you, I would not have brought you here.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t care about me,” Alex corrected, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I said you ignore me.”

“Sasha.”

“No. It’s Alex for you.” She spun away and took heavy, deliberate steps to her bedroom. The moment after forcefully shutting the door, her phone was pulled from her pocket.

**I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.**

**I was angry at the situation, NOT you.**

Her breath suspended as three dots appeared and disappeared on the screen. There was a long moment, then they appeared again.

**Ok.**

Alex pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and exhaled through her nose. He was genuinely angry at her.

**Okay, you’re angry, and I totally get it.**

**I just need you to know that we’re still cool.**

**I don’t expect apologies from you.**

**You’re getting one.**

**Fine. Apology accepted.**

**And I apologize for interjecting into your conversation.**

**Apology accepted :)**

**Can we end this conversation now?**

**Yes, but…**

**Okay, this is probably really bad timing.**

**Do you want to hang out again?**

Another long period of three dots appearing and disappearing. Alex wondered what he was typing and rewriting. Probably trying to find the diplomatic way to tell her to fuck off.

**In what capacity?**

**Tour of the city?**

**Not safe.**

**Ask one of the other men.**

Okay, there was another crack in her heart. The comment didn’t help matters, but somehow between Fourth of July and now she had really screwed up. It was abundantly clear that the need for a friendship was one-sided. Maybe he was “one friend only” kind of guy, and that space was taken up by her father.

That should’ve been the last text she sent, but Alex couldn’t help herself.

**So, I thought we were having fun on the 4th.**

**But I guess that was fake?**

**You don’t actually like me?**

**I don’t recall ever saying that.**

**You do understand you are my employer’s daughter.** **Right?**

**So what does that mean?**

**You’re banned from hanging out with me?**

**Your father doesn’t ban me from anything.**

**I have responsibilities outside of** **babysitting you on the way to class.**

There were those stupid tears again, desperate to escape their ducts. She moved her fingers to the keyboard, trying to decide how to respond, but she couldn’t come up with anything that would properly express her feelings. What the hell was she even feeling right now?

Sadness, betrayal, horror, anger.

Babysitting. He had said he was working that night. Sitting with her on the terrace must have been nothing more than overtime.

**I didn’t intend to send that.**

**Miss Fisk, that is not what I meant.**

**I am truly sorry.**

“I’m leaving now,” her father’s voice bellowed down the hallway. When she didn’t respond, he tried again. “Alex?”

_ Yeah, you don’t get to call me by my Russian name _ .

She opened her door and dismissed him with a shouted “Bye”.

**Please respond.**

That’s right, she had her read receipts on for the assistant. Well, good. Then he could be just as distressed as her.

Babysitting.

It must be frustrating for all of these men to babysit her. They had been doing important work up until now, hadn’t they. Helping Wilson Fisk turn his dream into a reality. And now what were they doing? Walking laps around an apartment lobby. Waiting to bring the car around when she requested it. God, she was such a nuisance. She should fix it.

Her mother had always described her as headstrong, which was code for “stubborn and emotional. Apparently the orneriness came from the Tolstayas and the emotionalness came from the Fisks. This always amused Alex because emotional was the last word she’d ever use to define her father. Katya, though, insisted.

Being headstrong was what motivated her to relieve her father’s staff of babysitting her today. She needed to show them all that they were wrong. She had to show them that she could survive in the city alone. She was not afraid; she was not a baby.

Unfortunately, she’d have to use them to achieve this. It was impossible to sneak out unless she wanted to try and rappel down the side of the building. In addition to the noticeable bodyguards, the staff was well aware that she was a top security priority. Wilson Fisk paid well, and it was incredibly important that they follow through with his request.

The problem would have to be faced head on. Not that she kept an extensive wardrobe, but Alex always had clothes on hand that were perfect for blending into a crowd. Olive green shirt, blue jeans, and a hat to cover her fire red hair. Basic and versatile. They’d be running in circles trying to find her.

Soon thereafter, she was settling comfortably into the backseat of her personal car. The driver asked for a destination, and she asked to be taken to a nearby restaurant.

“Bored of fresh food again.”

The driver’s name was Lewis, and Alex had been trying for weeks to get him to say more than two word sentences. He was hesitant, but was slowly warming up. It made her wonder what her father had said to the men before she arrived in the city. Were they unfriendly or instructed to keep themselves emotionally distanced?

“Sometimes you need greasy pizza,” Lewis replied. A breakthrough.

The set up she had with Lewis was that he could drop her off and wait, or leave until she asked to be picked up. So, she was not particularly worried about how her actions would affect him. However, the two plainclothes bodyguards that tailed her were another story.

If it was anyone else, they would have been doing a fantastic job. They maintained a good distance and never obviously followed her into stores or restaurants. Her father had chosen wisely. Unfortunately, her father didn’t know that Alex had exceptional observational skills. It only took her three trips out of the apartment to recognize them in the crowd. She understood that the intention was to keep her safe. It hadn’t angered her before, but now rage heated her veins.

Wesley for school days, the plainclothes for trips through the city.

Well now no one would babysit her.

When she got to the restaurant, she immediately approached the counter and fibbed. Her stalker had found her and she was afraid. No, don’t call the cops, it would only make him angry. Could she please go out the back?

The back led to an alley. The alley led to freedom.

There was no telling how long it would take the plainclothes to notice that their charge had disappeared, but Alex didn’t want to risk taking her time. Her pace started at a full run. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she went through block after block. Four blocks down and she slowed to a jog with a bright grin across her face.

Holy shit, she’d actually done it. She could feel how she did back home. Independent. Adult.

Where to, she asked herself. A list of places went through her mind. Touristy, but anything worked at this point. She just needed time to be really free.

_ Central Park _ .

It’d be easy to disappear between the trees among the crowd of people. She stopped to regain her breath for a few moments, then moved to her destination.

Over the course of the morning, she inundated her Instagram feed with pictures of the park and all it had to offer. It surprised her how many things she didn’t know existed there. The first thing she saw was a zoo, which immediately activated her inner child. She doubted her father was tracking her bank account, but she still exchanged cash for a ticket when she entered the area.

Alex took her time, observing every animal for as long as she liked. It was blissful to spend certain locations alone. You didn’t have to worry about bothering anyone with how long your attention was held by something. She spent ages with the penguins, oblivious to the families that filtered in and out of the space beside her. They were her favorite animals since she was small. Her father had sent a stuffed penguin for her seventh birthday. She had brought it with her when she moved, but he hadn’t gone in her bedroom since she’d unpacked. He had no idea.

She took a deep breath, realizing too late how this little field trip was going to affect their relationship. If snapping at Wesley garnered that reaction, how much more so would running away from her protection anger the man? It was part of the problem that seeing him rarely caused. Alex didn’t really know what pressing certain buttons would do. There were little things Katya had warned against.

Don’t bring up his parents. Don’t critique his line of work. Don’t snoop.

Her phone started to buzz and Alex expected to see ‘Watcher’ on the screen. Instead, it was the spark of this whole adventure.

“Hey, babe,” she said gently.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. I just had a rough morning. What are you up to?”

“Not a lot,” Patrick admitted. “It’s actually incredibly boring without you here. Just trying to keep myself busy with work. New person started and I have to train them.”

“Remember you were a new hire once too,” Alex said with a smirk. “Um, by the way, I tried to ask my dad if you could come visit. It didn’t really go well, so…. I can fly back fall break, though.”

“Why didn’t it go well?” His voice was irritated. There had been a conversation before Alex flew out about the interaction between her father and Patrick. The man didn’t understand why Fisk had been so stand-offish.

“He didn’t even give me a chance to mess up,” Patrick had said.

Alex chewed on her lip. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now she had to come up with an excuse.

“You could have cost those men their lives,” a deep voice said beside her.

_ Shit _ .

“I have to go,” Alex said to Patrick.

“Who was that?” the man asked.

“Wesley. I’ll call you later.” She ended the call without waiting for his response. A deep breath and she faced the assistant. “You found me.”

“Don’t,” Wesley said in a warning tone.

Alex’s eyes dragged up and down the man’s body. He was in casual clothes again, but it wasn’t at her doing. This time he was in a black T-shirt, khakis, and black shoes that had to be more expensive than they appeared. He’d traded his glasses for expensive shades. The left arm tattoos were proudly on display again, and she could now see that his right arm was blank. The outfit fit him so naturally, and it surprised her.

“That’s not a bad disguise,” Alex told him. “Does Papa know you’re here?”

“Of course not,” Wesley sneered. “In fact, the only thing that kept those men alive was that they had the sense to text me instead of him. I waited until he no longer needed me to come find you.”

“And how did you do that?”

Wesley held out his phone. On the screen was her Instagram profile.

Alex hummed. She’d have to privatize that. “What’s your username?”

“Miss Fisk,” he said, voice taut.

Alex moved away from him, heading towards the seal exhibit. Wesley stayed right next to her. “I was going to call Lewis when I was ready to come home.”

Wesley scoffed. “There was no way for any of us to know that. You could have been kidnapped, or already dead. By anyone, not just one of your father’s enemies. It’s a big city. A  _ dangerous _ city. Do you know how easy it is to snatch someone off the street?”

She raised one eyebrow. His strained voice suggested this wasn’t just a chastising rant. Had he been legitimately worried about her? As a person?

“One difficult morning and you decide to run away from people meant to protect you.”

“Yes, my dutiful babysitters.”

“Well now you said it, not me.”

Alex stopped suddenly, letting the man gain a couple steps ahead of her. He stopped to face her. “Look, you found me.” She gave a couple sarcastic claps. “Can you go? I just wanted to have a nice day.”

Wesley crossed his arms. “No, I have to make sure you don’t run away again.”

Alex took a step forward and modeled his pose. She craned her neck to look at her reflection in his sunglasses and the blue eyes behind. “Well, I’m not going home.”

A smirk emerged as she revealed “You’re going to have to spend the day with me.”

Wesley pushed his sunglasses up and squinted at her. “You did this on purpose.”

Alex shook her head. “I didn’t actually. It was just a wonderful coincidence.”

“Hmm.” He dropped the sunglasses back down. “I should have listened to your father.”

“About what?”

“How annoying you are.”

This startled an offended laugh from the young woman. They were really breaking down boundaries now, weren’t they? “Papa called me annoying?”

“ _ Papa _ ,” he said mockingly, “said you were ornery.” Wesley leaned forward slightly. “In my book, that’s a synonym for annoying.”

Yes, this was proper banter. This was all she had wanted from the man. If he was trying to chastise her or hurt her feelings, it didn’t work. This was delightful.

The young woman grinned and pointed to the path behind him. “Come on, Wesley. We have things to see.”

The next couple hours passed by quickly. By the way he navigated, Alex could tell Wesley had been in the zoo, and the park in general, many times before. Never once did he ask to see the map she was carrying. He stopped at crossroads only to ask what she wanted to see next.

Alex tried to watch him when he wasn’t paying attention. It was odd to see him like this. The lighting was too dim that night two weeks ago, and she couldn’t take it all in. The way his body was far more relaxed than when he wore his suit, and the way his face rested when he wasn’t concerned about...whatever the hell his job entailed. For someone who was a transplant and hated the city, he seemed to be comfortable here.

She knocked her elbow against his. When he looked down, she teased, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were enjoying this.”

Wesley smirked. “You seem to have a vested interest in me having a good time.”

“You don’t seem like a guy who gets to have a good time very often.”

“I’m busy,” Wesley confirmed. “I’m a loyal employee.”

“Papa mentioned,” Alex said. She bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to decide if a question was worth asking. “Papa also mentioned that he chose you? He took you in?”

Wesley’s hands closed into fists. “Is that a question?”

“Do you have an answer?”

They walked in silence while, presumably, Wesley searched for one in his head. He opened and shut his mouth many times, but nothing came out. Then finally, he hummed and responded. “Yes, he took me in when I was eighteen. I lived with him for a few months before moving into my own place. Your father is a generous man.”

“Well, I knew that,” Alex said. “Can I ask--?”

Wesley cut her off with a stern “No, you can not.”

Fair enough. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Wesley rubbed his forehead as they continued walking. “Look. There has to be some sort of separation here. Your father expects professionalism. I’m not trying to be rude or dismissive. And if I have made you feel dismissed in any way, beyond this morning, I am sorry. It was not my intention.”

Alex let out a hollow laugh at the deja vu. When the man acknowledged it with a turn of his head, she sighed. How was she going to express to him how she had been feeling over the course of this month? It was lonely to be in a city bustling with people, and the ones you want to be with the most are off doing who knows what,  _ unintentionally _ pushing you to the side. Need attention from her father was obvious, but she felt stupid for hoping to form some kind of real attachment to the man next to her. Why was she that desperate to befriend him? And did she actually want to tell him these things, or was it just a matter of proximity?

“You’re angry.”

Alex set her jaw.

“I know this is all difficult since you haven’t started school. You don’t know anyone and your father isn’t home.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” she said darkly.

But it didn’t faze him. Wesley continued, “We are not trying to isolate you or keep you away from your boyfriend. Your father is trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Her fingers curled into fists. “You’re ruining this.”

“And if I am going to keep you safe, I need to be objective.”

“Wesley….”

“I just don’t understand why you would run away because of a simple no.”

“I didn’t!” Alex blurted, her hands shaking open. She froze, wide eyes meeting his, searching for a sign that he actually understood her. “I didn’t!”

He frowned. “Well, you didn’t do all this because of me, did you?”

Her ears began to burn, but before she could respond, Wesley was answering his cell phone. Alex watched as his posture and expression changed. His muscles went rigid, shoulders straightened, and his face turned serious. He was his perfect professional self, only sans suit. She now dubbed it Wes-Bot.

“Your father needs me,” Wesley said as he returned his phone to his pocket. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Her expression fell. Though they had been on the precipice of a real argument, she wasn’t ready for the day to be done. They were both in the car about fifteen minutes later. Wesley with fingers clasped, staring out the window, and Alex with her hands in her lap, staring at him. It was unabashed this time; she wanted to see him this way. Wes-Bot in civilian clothes. It had been amusing a couple weeks ago when it was a set-up. But it truly hit her now that these clothes he wore had a space in his closet.

_ Who are you _ ?  _ Who are you when Wilson Fisk isn’t looking _ ?

“Can you not do that?”

Alex smirked. “Uncomfortable being watched?”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “So you really did do this because of me.”

There went her ears again--burning like an iron--and her face joined in.

“You’re not being watched because you’re a child,” Wesley continued. “You’re being watched because you’re precious to your father. So, I’m confused. Why would you risk your safety for...what, exactly?”

“To prove I could do it. And get some privacy for once,” she admitted.

“In a city of 8.5 million people.”

“Yeah, 8.5 million people who aren’t watching my every move.” Alex leaned forward, pressing her elbows against her knees. “Tell me, _ Watcher _ . Do you know what it’s like to know there are people around you, keeping an eye on you, but refusing to interact in any way? Even when you try really, really hard to reach out?”

He, at least, had the decency to answer honestly. “No. I don’t.”

“It’s embarrassing.” She sat back again. “And lonely. I wanted to be alone, not lonely.”

It was his turn to stare now. For the first time, Alex could tell that his brain was working hard but coming up short. There was no snappy comeback, there was no deep explanation for why she was wrong. Wes-Bot’s processor was failing.

“I’m sorry,” he replied finally. “I… I get it.”

It was deeply sincere. There was more meaning behind the sentence. But Alex was tired of prying. It didn’t matter what information she got during this car ride. She suspected it would be meaningless once they stepped back into the penthouse. What was it he had said? Oh, yeah.

_ There has to be a separation _ .


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with the following Trigger Warnings: Implied Abuse, Implied Child Abuse

**Chapter 7 - Wesley - August 1**

  
  


_ No _ .  _ Please _ .  
  


The hopeless thoughts of the six-year-old boy as he was tossed back into familiar darkness. Coats enveloped him, just barely keeping his head from smacking against the back wall of the closet. He had to find little comforts where he could. Terror crept slowly up his throat and he ground his teeth to keep it down. His fingers curled into his palms, nails digging into the soft skin. No. No, he wasn’t going to cry this time. He could be brave. He could be a big boy.  
  


The voices outside the door were muffled, but he could recite every word at this point. It was always the same. He did wonder what she had done this time. Well, they’d find out soon enough. Then it’d only be a short wait, and she’d come get him. Just wait until the yelling was over, he told himself. She would come get him.  
  


He was safe in the closet. He could be a big boy.  
  


The fighting began, right on cue. Lots of yelling. His. Lots of crying. Hers. The boy’s chest heaved and he shook his head. No, no, no. It was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine. But the fighting would be over soon. He could wait.  
  


Then a smack.  
  


His eyes widened.  
  


No, that was wrong. There shouldn’t be a smack.  
  


Another one echoed clearly, this time followed by a cry.  
  


He practically slammed his body into the door, reaching up to smack on the barrier. All the oxygen had been pulled out of the space, making it nearly impossible to scream, much less breathe. But that didn’t stop him. He had to make it stop. He had to be louder than the agonizing cries being pulled from her.  
  


“Tell the boy to shut up or he’s gonna get it too!”  
  


That should have stopped him, but he couldn’t help it. The need to save her had transcended his own self-preservation. His hands began to smart as he banged the door even harder. He didn’t want to hear the crying anymore. He didn’t want her to be hit anymore. How was she supposed to come get him if…  
  


If…  
  


The door flung open now, giving the boy little time to catch himself. He cried in pain as the heels of his hands hit the wooden floor. Trembling, he looked up at the familiar silhouette.  
  


“Typical Jimmy. Terrible listener.” The silhouette reached down and grabbed the boy’s collar. “Your turn!”  
  


“NO!”  
  


There was a startled “Oh!” that Wesley barely heard as he sat up from his bed. His heart pounded, sending blood and adrenaline flooding through his veins. He searched wildly around the room. That asshole would not escape death twice.  
  


“Wesley?”  
  


He looked towards the bedroom door and squinted, trying to make out the shape in the dark. The figure reached over to slide the light dimmer up, and a faint yellow glow filled the room. His breaths still came in short bursts, but relief began its slow replacement of the fear gripping his body. The room was free of ghosts. It was only Alex here.  
  


A very confused, distressed Alex.  
  


Rightfully so. The young woman had been asleep when he and Fisk had returned to the penthouse late in the night. There was no way for her to know that he had chosen the guest bedroom over driving home. God, what a way for her to find out. Guilt settled in his stomach, knowing how he had most likely frightened her. It had been a long time since someone had witnessed one of his nightmares, but they all told him the same story. He was thrashing, he was screaming.  
  


Wesley idly lifted his left hand to his cheek. Great. He was crying too.  
  


Alex opened her mouth, but the words never came out. Her eyes dragged down towards his chest and Wesley realized this was the first time she was seeing the extent of his tattoos. Or, at least, how the roses extended to cover his left pectoral, framing another clock face. The time noted 1:17. For someone so curious, she had never once asked about the ink previously revealed. It seemed the most obvious thing to comment on, and yet, nothing. Would seeing the full image change that?  
  


The silence had lasted too long. He couldn’t handle it.  
  


“Are you alright?”  
  


Her eyes snapped back to his. She frowned. “Me? What about you? Are you alright?”  
  


She wasn’t an idiot, so Wesley didn’t know why he tried to lie. But he managed his best acting and pulled his eyebrows together like he had no idea what she could possibly mean. Never mind the way his lungs were still trying to remember how they worked. Never mind that thin layer of sweat on his skin. Never mind the goddamn tears.  
  


“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”  
  


Alex tilted her head and smiled sadly. She didn’t buy it, but at least she wasn’t offended.  
  


“You screamed,” she said. “And that’s not something an alright person wakes up with.”  
  


Wesley looked to where she pointed. In his right hand, his pistol was gripped so tightly that his knuckles were a bright white. The safety was still on, thank God. There was a patch in his apartment wall from a night when it wasn’t. Gently, he returned the piece to its place on his nightstand. Fingers trembled as he brought his hand back to his lap.  
  


“You tried to swing at someone.” Alex took a small step forward. “Wesley?”  
  


He looked. Her expression was soft, concerned. There was a lump in his throat that refused to be swallowed.  
  


“Did you have a nightmare?”  
  


_ Keep it simple _ ,  _ James _ .  
  


“Um, y-ye-yeah,” he stuttered. “It happens.”  
  


Alex’s mouth tugged to the side. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  


“No.”  
  


The word came out heavy, much heavier than Wesley intended. But, even if he had wanted to tell her, where the hell would he have even started?  
  


_ Yes _ ,  _ my employer’s daughter _ .  _ I would be delighted to tell you every intimate detail of my traumatic childhood _ .  
  


Alex sighed. “Okay. Well….” She chewed her lip for a second. “Why are you here? You have your own apartment.”  
  


Was she ever going to leave? It was already going to take an hour to convince his brain to let him fall back asleep. At least it was only the closet nightmare. There were far worse flashbacks. Even the thought made his chest tighten.  
  


“I have my own apartment,” Wesley confirmed. “Sometimes my exhaustion makes it unsafe for me to drive home. Your father lets me sleep here. Speaking of….”  
  


Understanding, Alex explained, “Um, he sleeps with earplugs now. I’ve had a couple big nightmares myself.”  
  


Wesley’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t get the chance to ask anymore questions. Alex retreated back towards the door.  
  


“Well, I’ll let you get back to sleep then. I’m sorry if I scared you.”  
  


“No,” he countered, “I’m sorry that I scared you.”  
  


“It’s okay.” She dragged the light dimmer back down. “Goodnight, Wesley.”  
  


“Goodnight.”  
  


Wesley watched her gently close the door before he fell back onto his bed. He dragged the sheets over his head as slowly as the embarrassment washing over him. That should have never happened. He couldn’t sleep here anymore. The nightmares weren’t predictable, and neither were his reactions. What if he had taken the safety off in his sleepy haze? What if he had pointed it at the mysterious human figure in the room? That was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. The guilt would kill him even if Fisk didn’t.  
  


He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the remnants of his panic. Images flashed behind his eyelids. Sounds echoed in his ears. He just kept repeating the mantra he’d built for himself.  
  


_ It’s 2014. You live in New York. He’s dead. You’re safe.  
  
_

He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but he knew he hadn’t been asleep for long. He was easily pulled out of the darkness by a solitary scream coming from the room beside his. Wesley started to rise, but remembered the young woman’s words. She had nightmares too. She could pull herself out of it. He closed his eyes and began his process again. Calm breathing and mantras.  
  


Then it happened again. And again. All right, maybe she actually needed help. Wesley retrieved a T-shirt from the clothing stash he kept here, then moved towards the young woman’s bedroom.  
  


He gripped the doorknob and took a breath. He’d never been in her bedroom before. Even with the audible sounds of distress inside, Wesley had to shake off nerves before he opened the door.  
  


The bed comforter and top sheet had been unceremoniously thrown to the floor. On top of the bed, Alex was curled in a ball with fingers tangled up in her hair. The screams had downgraded to sobs that shook the young woman’s shoulders.  
  


“Miss Fisk?” Wesley called out.  
  


There was a quick inhale and a quiet “Yeah?”  
  


He didn’t know why it made him smile. He stepped over and took a seat next to her feet. “Your turn.”  
  


Alex’s laugh came out in a huff as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her hair was a mess, strands crossing over her face or tangled around her head like a halo. Without thinking, Wesley reached out and brought a couple to their rightful place behind her ear. It was a reflex--taught by his mother.  
  


“So now I do get to apologize,” Alex said.  
  


“If you feel like it,” Wesley teased. It was successfully rewarded with a smirk. “Do you want some water?”  
  


Her eyebrows jumped. “Uh, yeah. Thank you. That’d be great.”  
  


He didn’t realize until he was in the kitchen filling the glass what he was doing. Sitting beside her, fixing her hair, getting water. It was all a script. The years of being comforted by his mother had laid dormant in his memory until this very moment. Without meaning to, he’d fallen into the old familiar patterns. He rolled his eyes at himself. Well, he had to see it through now.  
  


When he returned with the water, he sat back down on the bed. It didn’t seem to bother her. She just took the glass from his hand with a thank you.  
  


“So you have nightmares so often your father wears earplugs,” Wesley said.  
  


“Hey, how come you get to ask questions but I got shooed away,” Alex complained.  
  


Wesley grinned. “I didn’t shoo you away.”  
  


“Whatever.” She took another brief sip of her water. “I guess I woke him up a couple times. He said I fell back asleep soon after, and I didn’t remember anything in the morning. I don’t know if it’s new, but I just don’t remember waking anyone up at home before.”  
  


“Well, it’s a new environment,” Wesley said. “You’re stressed. I don’t think you’re actually over the Attack on New York.”  
  


“The psychoanalysis has to stop.” But she was smiling and Wesley knew she wasn’t as upset as she had been in the Park. “I didn’t even tell you what my nightmare was about.”  
  


“And you don’t have to.”  
  


Alex tilted her head slightly and began to study him. Wesley mirrored the smirk that began to grow on her face. There was a brief nervous flutter in his stomach that surprised him. It had been two weeks since she’d stared into his eyes like this, and a voice in the back of his mind told him he’d missed it. What was it about those blue eyes and the smartass expression on her face that he liked so much? Perhaps it was simply that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And absent she had been.  
  


“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said.  
  


Wesley wondered for a moment if she had telepathy. It wasn’t impossible nowadays.  
  


Without waiting for a response, she asked, “How have you been Wesley?”  
  


How indeed. He realized he didn’t have a real answer for her. When they returned from that day in the Park and Wesley watched her disappear into the penthouse, he didn’t realize she was going to take his words to heart. That was the last time he saw her.  _ Really _ saw her. There were times he’d catch a glimpse of her while walking towards the penthouse’s office, but when he’d walk back, the door to her bedroom would be closed. She spent most of her time outside of the penthouse, always under the watchful eye of the plainclothes. Fisk relayed that she had made a friend.  
  


She wasn’t lonely anymore, so she didn’t need him anymore. No more texts, no more attempts at conversation. Without her to bother him, Wesley had no choice but to fall back into his old routine of running errands, playing nice with associates, and managing assets. It didn’t feel as comfortable now. The Fourth of July and Central Park had given him a taste of something different. All he wanted now was a chance to really relax. He wanted to enjoy the company of another human without talking about shady business, city planning, and crime.  
  


“Fine.”  
  


Alex nodded. “Me too.”  
  


“Your father said you made a friend.”  
  


“I did,” Alex confirmed. “Her name’s Taylor. She’s a barista.”  
  


Wesley smiled encouragingly. “That’s nice. Spending a lot of time with her?”  
  


The young woman laughed then teased, “Are you jealous, Wesley?”  
  


“No.”  _ Yes _ . “You said it yourself. We haven’t really seen each other.”  
  


“Hmm.” Alex tapped her chin. “I seem to remember someone saying there needed to be a separation.”  
  


“I didn’t mean--.” Wesley stopped, trying to decide what he was going to say. What did he even want to say? The way she was looking at him now, it needed to be good. “I didn’t mean you needed to completely avoid me.”  
  


“Oh, I know,” she said. “That’s just what I chose to do.”  
  


He winced. Her tone was so cool and collected. She’d really thought about this; it wasn’t just another emotional outlash. “But that’s not what I wanted.”  
  


“What did you want, Wesley?” Alex asked. She raised an eyebrow when her question was met with silence. “What did you want?”  
  


How could a simple question force his mind to go completely blank? Oh, because he hadn’t been asked that in a very long time. He survived off his instincts and thrived on predictability. It didn’t matter what he wanted. What was going to keep him safe? What was expected of him?  
  


“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.  
  


She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You do, though.”  
  


“I want to keep it professional. And I think we can do that without you avoiding me.”  
  


Alex hummed and put the glass of water on the table. Then, held her hands out palms up. When Wesley frowned, she lifted them slightly. “Hold my hands.”  
  


_ Deep breaths, James _ .  
  


Wesley reached out and took her hands. “What the hell are you doing?” he said in a low tone.  
  


“I need you to promise me something,” Alex said, giving his hands a light squeeze. “Because I’m not having this conversation anymore.”  
  


Wesley leaned back slightly. He should’ve left while he had the chance. No, he should’ve never walked in here. What time was it? When did Fisk wake up? Her bedroom door was open; he would immediately see his assistant sitting on his daughter’s bed. And then Wesley would be floating in the Hudson.  
  


“I won’t avoid you anymore,” Alex said. “But you need to promise to stop jumping between being nice to me and shutting me out. It’s confusing and painful and I hate it.”  
  


Had she rehearsed this? The words came out so evenly, matched with a serious expression. The meaning was clear: this was a fork in the road and he needed to choose.  
  


“I think it’s an easy promise,” she continued. “But I’m not the one dying to keep this ‘professional’.”  
  


Somehow her dropping his hands to put air quotes around ‘professional’ was more hurtful than the mocking tone itself. He waited for her to take them again, but instead she clasped her hands together.  
  


“So?”  
  


Wesley ran his hands over his legs. “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?”  
  


“Because I need an answer so I can go to bed in peace,” Alex said. “I’m not going to wake up in the morning and suddenly the guy who came to check on me during a nightmare has been replaced with Wes-Bot.”  
  


“Wes-Bot,” he scoffed.  
  


“It’s like you get spooked,” she continued. “You can’t handle Papa seeing you enjoy time with me.”  
  


“Because I’m supposed--.”  
  


“To be professional,” Alex finished. “Yes, but have you considered that what Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”  
  


That was a very, very dangerous sentence. It was going to lead down a very dangerous path.  
  


“It’s okay to turn Wes-Bot off every once in a while.” Alex poked his arm hard, startling an “ow!” from him. “And I think you secretly like hanging out with me.”  
  


“Okay, I’m leaving,” Wesley said, standing up.  
  


Alex’s giggle followed him, and he was glad his back was turned to hide the smile that broke out on his face.  
  


“So, can we be friends now?”  
  


He paused in the doorway, letting his brain and his heart duke it out. Team Brain: Remain professional and neutral. Keep all conversations to business only. Be polite but nothing beyond. Team Heart: Drop all the walls he’d built around himself. Allow her to carve a place into his life. Risk losing everything.  
  


But, maybe she was right. Maybe what Fisk didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Anyway, it was just a friendship. Wesley could use a friend who didn’t have a body count.  
  


He exhaled slowly. “Yes. We can be friends.”  
  


Alex clapped her hands together. “Glad we could sort that out. Goodnight, Wesley.”  
  


“Goodnight, Miss Fisk.”  
  


“My friends call me Alex.”  
  


“Goodnight,  _ Miss Fisk _ ,” Wesley said deliberately. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind him.  
  


“Right, right. Keep it a little professional,” she said before the door could close completely.  
  


Wesley took a deep breath, allowing himself to really think about what he had just done. He searched within himself for any sign of regret or remorse. Any reason why he should go back in there and tell her he’d made a mistake. But no, there was nothing. Just a warm glow rising in his chest. It was the first real  _ personal _ choice he’d made in years. He hadn’t expected it to feel so...freeing. He wanted to feel this way forever.  
  


_ Careful _ .   
  


There it was. The omnipresent caution that kept him safe. That reminded him to watch his back. She could still hurt him. Even if she didn’t want to, or mean to. Things could always change. He would still need to watch his step, his words, his heart. But even this thought couldn't dim the way he was feeling. He happily returned to his bed, knowing damn well he wasn’t ever falling back asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - Wesley - September 1**

Wesley reacted quickly to the vibration in his suit’s breast pocket, then paused.  
  


_ Persephone — iMessage  
  
_

He took a deep breath. Instinctively, he wanted to check the message. One, he was part of her security team and it was his job. Two, he was taking this new friendship thing seriously. Wesley’s occupation kept him considerably busy, and while they occasionally were face-to-face, there had been no opportunity for him and Alex to spend extended time together. Instead, they had taken to texting throughout the day.  
  


Correction: Alex had taken to text him throughout the day, and Wesley didn’t want to offend her. He had warned her that it could be some time before he responded. Just as her father said, it would look strange if Wesley’s phone began buzzing more than usual. Additionally, since he spent most of his time with Fisk, Wesley desperately wanted to avoid any suspicion from him.  
  


At first, her texts were normal. “How’s your day?” “Hey Taylor took me to this bakery and it’s super good. Want me to grab you something?” “If you’re coming here at any point, can you grab me a Coke? No worries if not.”  
  


Those messages caught him off-guard each time. He had never received messages so innocent. Seeing her notifications sandwiched between meeting requests and cryptic series of numbers was refreshing. It was important Fisk never caught him reading those, because Wesley could not control the smile on his face. For the first time in a long time, Wesley felt like a normal person.  
  


And then, sometimes, her texts were…. Well.  
  


“Meme culture” was not something Wesley had ever wanted to be well acquainted with, much less introduced to. That didn’t matter to Alex. During an otherwise peaceful breakfast, she had eagerly slid her phone across the table to the man. Wesley’s face immediately scowled when he caught sight of a disturbingly drawn frog.  
  


“What is it?” Fisk asked.  
  


Wesley slid the phone back like it was infected. “Nothing, sir. Miss Fisk just thinks she’s funny.”  
  


“You don’t know memes,” Alex said in an almost reverent tone. Her eyes were wide, like she’d stumbled upon a great treasure.  
  


“Memes,” Wesley repeated, feeling as though he’d uttered a dark, ancient curse. And then, a more modern one, “What the hell is a meme?”  
  


According to legend, redheads had no soul. The gleeful, borderline psychotic grin that broke across the young woman’s face was proof enough. Dread crept down his spine, and Wesley realized he had opened some sort of Pandora’s box. He would still receive normal messages, but from that fateful morning onward, they were heavily accented by the cursed images.  
  


An old man shrugging with the caption “guess I’ll die”. A little girl smiling as a fire raged behind her. That  _ fucking _ frog.  
  


And so, as Wesley looked down at the notification, he wondered if it was even worth opening. It was 11 o’clock at night, making it likely the young woman was scrolling aimlessly through social networks, searching for images that would haunt him. Maybe if he didn’t have actual business to conduct tonight, it would have been easy to just glance at the message. However, there was a newly promoted bodyguard that Wesley had been assigned to train. Wesley couldn’t risk the mental distraction and anguish that would be caused by trying to decipher the image and deciding between sending a simple smiling emoji or a thumbs-up.  
  


Wesley slid the phone back into his breast pocket and exited the car. He was meeting the new guard at one of the many offices Fisk used as a front. Part of being inconspicuous was not parking directly in front of these spaces. Wesley didn’t mind the walk, but not even twenty paces and there was another vibration. Wesley paused and clenched his fists. No, it was nothing.  
  


Another twenty paces. Vibration. Wesley briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He was just stressed because of the late hour, and it was always taxing to train new employees. The bodyguard, Francis, wasn’t new to the operation, but there was more information he was privy to now. Wesley wanted to just get it over with and get back to his home.  
  


A staccato pattern began, signaling an incoming phone call. It was dedicated to only one, but this was the first time she had ever called him. Surely she wouldn’t try to verbally explain a meme? He couldn’t begin to fathom how that would even work. Wesley was tempted to ignore it just as he had the messages, but the thought didn’t sit well with him. The first time she calls him, and he ignores it? What would that say to her?  
  


He slid his finger across the screen. Voice calmer than the way his mind raced, he answered, “Wesley.”  
  


“Hey. Did you see my text?”  
  


His breath hitches at the wavering voice coming through the speakers.  
  


“No,” he fibbed. “Is everything okay?”  
  


“C-can you come here? To the penthouse?”  
  


A loud sniffle followed and Wesley’s pulse quickened. “Absolutely.”  
  


He offered an excuse to Francis that his attention was required by Miss Fisk, and prayed that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Wesley made a note to make it  _ very  _ clear to the man that the sentence should not be repeated to their employer.  
  


Wesley found her on the balcony. Lying on her back, hands folded on her stomach and eyes staring up at the night sky, Alex appeared to be in a state of serenity. Maybe she had solved her problem before he had arrived. He walked around to her left side and waited.  
  


Without directly looking, Alex said, “Thank you.”  
  


Her voice came out as a croak. Tears had fallen at some point—heavily. That gave some indication of the problem’s status. He wondered how long she’d been out here. Dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top, she may not have necessarily been overheated. But it was incredibly humid. Strands of her hair were stuck to her face from sweat. Still, she had remained. Something was definitely wrong.  
  


“Of course,” Wesley responded quietly. Heavy guilt settled on his shoulders. He had checked the texts once he got back to his car, and there was nothing remotely humorous about them.  
  


**Hey, are you busy?**

**  
I’m at home. I need someone to talk to.** **Taylor wouldn’t get it.  
  
**

**I swear it’s not a joke.**

She sounded so lonely. Thank God he’d answered the call. How would he have faced her tomorrow in the car, knowing he’d ignored her when she needed him?  
  


Alex motioned to the space next to her. “Please sit. Or lie down and stare into the emptiness with me.”  
  


“Um.” Wesley looked through the large windows into the penthouse’s living room. “Where’s your father?”  
  


“Asleep.” Alex motioned again, a little more frantically this time.  
  


Wesley sighed. In an attempt to prevent himself from suffocating in the heat, he removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He pretended not to notice her staring. Again, he waited for a question about his tattoos. Nothing. Finally, Wesley lay beside her, leaving a decent space between them.   
  


Sure, Fisk was asleep  _ now _ . Wesley had been lucky once not being caught in Alex’s bedroom. Eventually his luck would run out.  
  


“I did get your messages, but I didn’t look at them,” he admitted. “I thought they were memes.”  
  


Alex chuckled hoarsely. “I’ve abused my texting privileges. I am the girl who cries meme.”  
  


Wesley shook his head. “It’s fine. At least it lets me know you’re alive. And sometimes they’re funny.”  
  


“Yeah, sure,” she said sarcastically.  
  


Okay, good. It was shared knowledge that he hated them. Wesley had a suspicion that wasn’t going to stop her from sending more in the future.  
  


“Did I interrupt something important?” Alex asked, her voice sounding guilty.  
  


“Nothing that couldn’t wait,” Wesley said. “So, what are we doing lying on the balcony at 11pm? You have school tomorrow.”  
  


Alex inhaled sharply. “Yeah. I just don’t know about all that.”  
  


Wesley’s mind flooded with images of having to tell Fisk he had spent thousands of dollars on nothing. Daughter or not, that would cause a huge fall out. Fisk would send her home on the next flight. They probably would not speak for months, maybe years. Wesley would be blamed somehow. He would lose any reason to text her, and he would lose her.  
  


“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.  
  


There was a shuddering breath. Wesley looked over to catch the first tear fall past her temple. Oh. Those words were not flippant. Her hands flew to her face, like he had never seen her cry before. Well, he supposed he hadn’t really. Not up close.  
  


“Okay.” Wesley sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Talk to me.”  
  


“I can’t do it,” Alex groaned behind her hands. “Every time I think about classes, I just go down this anxiety spiral that ends with Papa sending me home because I’m a total failure and disgrace.”  
  


Wesley shook his head. “You’re not going to be a failure. Hell, you haven’t even started your classes yet. At least meet your professor before you start catastrophizing.”  
  


“I know that was a joke, but it didn’t land.”  
  


“That’s fair.” Wesley stared up at the pitch black sky. Sometimes he missed the quiet suburbia that was his hometown. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen stars, but it wasn’t here. The lights from the buildings made it impossible. Maybe if there were some sort of celestial body visible, laying on this balcony while Alex went through her crisis would have been slightly less awkward.  
  


“Not to say I’m upset that you called. But why wouldn’t Taylor have understood your feelings?” Wesley asked.  
  


“She didn’t go to a university,” Alex said. “There’s an extra level of pressure that comes with that, you know?”  
  


Wesley let himself sink into the uncomfortable feeling that came over. It wasn’t something he had planned on ever telling her, but here it went. “I didn’t go to a university.”  
  


A quiet beat, then Alex propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “Huh?”  
  


“I didn’t go to a university,” Wesley repeated. “Bold of you to assume--.”  
  


Alex cut him off with a shake of her head. “That’s not how you use that.”  
  


“Oh.”  
  


“You didn’t go to college.” It wasn’t a question. Rather, a statement saturated in disbelief. Wesley understood why. His persona was carefully crafted to appeal to the intellectuals within the syndicate and intimidate the underlings. It spoke of old money and prestigious schooling and no consequences. A charming asshole.  
  


“I didn’t go to  _ university _ ,” he corrected. “I completed a degree online.”  
  


“Hmm.” Alex’s expression twisted and she laid back down.  
  


“What?” Wesley asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  
  


“I keep trying to piece together who you are, like a puzzle.” Alex laughed. “Every time I think I have it right, I realize I’m missing pieces or finding new ones. And they don’t make the puzzle I thought they would.”  
  


She turned her head and offered a soft smile to him. “I’m having fun though. Putting the new puzzle together.”  
  


Wesley smiled back. Suddenly, he wanted to give her all the pieces. He wanted to tell her everything: his past, his present, and what he hoped for the future. He wanted her to know what he thought of and dreamed of and felt. Things he couldn’t even talk about with Fisk.  
  


_ Don’t _ .  
  


A simple directive from his subconscious, so he stopped himself. But, a little honesty wouldn't hurt.  
  


“I don’t understand university, but I do understand the fear of failing your father.” He then elaborated, “ _Your_ father. Fisk.”  
  


“It’s different.”  
  


“It’s not,” Wesley insisted. His chest began to tighten with the familiar anxiety. “You’re permanent. I could be dispensed whenever he felt like it.”  
  


“No.” Her voice was so soft. She rolled over onto her side and placed a hand on his arm. “No, he wouldn’t do that. I promise.”  
  


It was so innocent. Wesley didn’t have the heart to tell her that she couldn’t promise anything. He had seen employees come and go, usually in a body bag. There was always a fear hanging over his head that he’d be the next. Of course, he did have a closer relationship with Fisk than the rest, and he would forever feel indebted. Fisk would--hopefully--know that Wesley would never turn into an informant or a rival. Best case scenario: he’d sell his car and his apartment, find something more modest in a smaller city, and get another personal assistant job. Worst case scenario: well, whatever happened to assistants who knew too much.  
  


“Your naivete is adorable,” Wesley said.  
  


It wasn’t meant to be an insult, but he was still surprised to see a wide grin instead of annoyance on her face. Sometimes it seemed she found it humorous when he picked on her. She removed her hand to toss her hair behind her shoulder.  
  


“Thank you,” Alex said dramatically.  
  


Wesley smiled. “You’re going to do fine,” he said, returning the conversation to its original topic. “I believe in you. So does your father. Or else he wouldn’t have brought you here.”  
  


“You brought me here too. Papa said you persuaded him.”  
  


“Columbia is a good school.”  
  


“But when we first met, you told me you knew how important a dream was,” Alex said. “What did that mean?”  
  


His heart fluttered at the thought that she could remember a sentence of his from so many months ago. It meant that she remembered their first meeting--in vivid enough detail. Had he really made that much of an impression at the start? Or was he being full of himself?  
  


“I meant that I know what it feels like to have an ambition and how devastating it could be if you didn’t achieve it,” Wesley said.  
  


“And what’s your ambition, Mr. Wesley?”  
  


Suddenly, memories filled his head. Abandoned, forgotten, dismissed. Too young to experience the feelings that followed. And though he was older and stronger, Wesley never, ever wanted to experience them again.  
  


“I want to be indispensable.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine - Alex - September 2**

The brush was pulled through her hair with deliberate strokes, moving far slower than necessary. Every kink needed to come out. No matter that her hair was silky smooth with very rare kinks. It was important that she brush her hair for far too long while making intense eye contact with her reflection.  
  


She willed her stomach to stop twisting itself. She begged her jaw to unclench. There had been two attempts to wiggle out her muscles and relax, to no avail.  
  


She was 21 years old. Why the hell did she still get so nervous about her first day of school?  
  


This time was different, Alex reminded herself. She wasn’t getting on a school bus with her friends or taking her own car to her first class.  
  


Thirty minutes there.  
  


Thirty minutes back.  
  


That is how much time she would spend in a car with James Wesley.  
  


A shift had occurred after the night she found him in the penthouse guest room. Walls had come down; the atmosphere felt lighter. The times they were able to be in the same room, there had only been pleasant conversation. No more snarky comments, no more snappy comebacks. He still called her “Miss Fisk”, but that was the only remainder of the professional relationship. The friendship she’d wanted for months had finally started. Like a bloom coming up from the concrete.  
  


A bloom that made her thoughts go a thousand miles an hour. Alex was not blind, and she noticed when Wesley glanced at her. She noticed how  _ often _ Wesley glanced at her. No longer did she have to start the conversations. Wesley made a concerted effort to speak to her every time they were in the same space. It was a complete 180, and Alex wondered how much of it was really because they had tiptoed over the line of formality. And now, she was starting the first of many semesters where they would spend a mandatory hour four times a week together.  
  


It wasn’t that the attention was necessarily unwanted. She just pushed down the way her heart beat differently when he was nearby. She ignored how easy it was to lean on him the previous night. They were saying goodbye at the door before Alex realized she hadn’t even tried to call Patrick. Patrick, who had also gone to a university. Patrick, who was her actual boyfriend.  
  


Her cell phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.  
  


**Here. Take your time.  
  
**

Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed her reply.  
  


**I’ll be right down.**

One last look at her appearance. Rolling up to campus in an expensive car with a driver didn’t exactly scream “average college student”. She needed to find some way to blend in once she stepped into class. Her wardrobe had steadily filled with designer clothes over the summer--courtesy of her new always-funded credit card. That seemed a risky move for the first day, so she fell back to her old favorite: a yellow sundress and white flats. Cute, classy, and casual. No one would be the wiser.  
  


In the living room, her father stood in front of a window, looking out at the city with his hands clasped behind his back. Alex smiled at the sight. There hadn’t been a certainty in her mind that he would see her off on her first day. She prepared herself for his absence as a way to keep her heart safe. To see him there meant more than he would ever know.  
  


“You look like a movie villain,” she teased.  
  


Fisk turned around, mouth drawn into a dry smile. “Good. I suppose you’re heading out now.”  
  


“First day of school,” Alex sang. “Do you remember my first day of kindergarten?”  
  


Fisk nodded and moved towards her. “I remember a little girl this high.” He dropped a hand to mark the space beside his knee. “And a school bus this big.” He stretched out his arms.  
  


Alex chuckled as her father reached out to touch the hair that framed her face.  
  


“And these were in braids,” he continued. “I think I was more emotional than your mother.”  
  


“To be fair, she had taken me to Meet The Teacher Night and had more time to process,” Alex said.  
  


Fisk’s smile dropped as he took a step back and he stared down at his feet. “I do regret not spending more time with you.”  
  


Alex shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  


“I know,” he said, looking up with a serious expression. “But I do.”  
  


“I’m grateful for the time we did spend together.” Alex smiled encouragingly.  
  


Yes, it was upsetting that her father was hardly more than a passing shadow now. But she would never try and guilt trip him for his absence in her childhood--something she assumed he had little control over. There was no way for her to truly know how long it took to grow a criminal empire, or how much work was involved. Everything had a reason. Her mother continuously assured her that her father loved her very much, and Alex believed that to her core.  
  


Fisk nodded. “I have been absent while you were here, and I understand now that is unacceptable.”  
  


Her stomach dropped and Alex waved her hands to try and stop his guilt. “No, it’s okay. You’ve been busy.”  
  


“We will be having scheduled family dinners,” Fisk continued. “Just the two of us. Pick any night.”  
  


Her jaw dropped and eyebrows raised slightly. Alex’s mind ran through her school schedule and what would be a good night.  
  


“Um, Thursdays?”  
  


“Thursdays it is,” Fisk said with a curt nod. Suddenly he reached out and pulled her into a hug.  
  


It was not the first time her father had hugged her, but the times that he did were almost always related to a greeting or farewell. What was happening now was not a hello hug, filled with relief that they were actually able to see each other again, and it was not a goodbye hug, filled with remorse that they did not know when the next time would be. This was different. The way he held her like she was going to be taken from him, the sigh and final squeeze before he let go. Alex couldn’t put her finger on it, so she tried to make an educated guess.

  
“I’m going to be okay,” she said, nodding in encouragement.  
  


“Yes, well, you’ll have to forgive me for my worry.” He looked like he wanted to hug her again, but refrained. “I love you.”  
  


Alex smiled. “I love you too, Papa.”  
  


She managed to get into the elevator before she let a couple tears escape. It hit her that they both had been avoiding talking about the obvious. This was more than a first day of school. This would be the first day Alex was truly stepping into the danger they’d been preparing for. All it would take is one mistake. One picture, one nosy underling, one rival gang member. It would all be over. There was so much more at stake than if she was going to make friends or like her professors.  
  


What felt like a forever long elevator ride later, she slid into the backseat of an Escalade. Wesley sat opposite her in his usual position: legs slightly spread, fingers clasped on his lap. He offered a supportive smile, but Alex couldn’t return it. The driver shut the door beside her and she took a steadying breath. That was it. It was really happening. Columbia. Her dream.  
  


“What’s wrong?” Wesley asked as the car pulled out of the garage and onto the street.  
  


Alex shook her head and lied, “Nothing. Why?”  
  


Wesley wasn’t stupid, but he graciously played along. That seemed to be the routine for them. “You look upset.”  
  


“Just nervous.” She flexed her hands, then rubbed the palms down her thighs. “First day jitters.”  
  


“You’ll do fine. I told you,” Wesley said. “What classes do you have today?”  
  


“Psychology and Basic Drawing.”  
  


“And tomorrow?”  
  


“Something about space and… I don’t know. The list is in my purse.”

Columbia required new students to take core classes. The bulk of her actual degree courses would have to wait until sophomore year. Basic Drawing was going to be her sanity this semester. She had been sketching since she was a child. It was almost bullshit that she had to do it at all.  
  


“Breathe,” Wesley said soothingly. He shifted to lean slightly forward.  
  


“I am breathing,” Alex said, decidedly not breathing. Her chest ached and her stomach was getting worked up again. She put her head in her hands. “My stomach hurts.”  
  


“Do we need to stop?”  
  


Alex shook her head and clenched her eyes shut. Exhaling and inhaling was becoming a chore. “No. No, I’m just being dumb.”  
  


“You’re not dumb,” Wesley interceded. He lightly grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from her face. “Hey.”

  
She raised her head and softly replied, “Hey.”  
  


“You’re not dumb,” he repeated. “You would not have gotten into Columbia if you were dumb. Your father does some...questionable things, but he would not have bribed someone to let you in. You did this. You got yourself here. Because you are smart, and you can handle this.”  
  


Oh, that’s why she hadn’t called Patrick. Because he didn’t give inspirational speeches like this one. When she had texted him this morning about being nervous, he had responded with a very simple “You got this :)”. Alex didn’t know what had changed between them, but the doting charmer was starting to slide away and she was beginning to follow suit.  
  


“Why don’t you play some music?” Wesley suggested. “We don’t have to sit in silence.”  
  


She nodded and pulled her phone and earbuds from her purse. But as she tried to connect them, Wesley lifted a hand.  
  


“I don’t mind.”  
  


“It’s the only way I can zone out.”  
  


Wesley’s expression dropped slightly and he relaxed back into the chair. “All right then.”  
  


Alex smirked as she plugged the earbuds in. “You wouldn’t even like it, I promise. I’m saving you.”  
  


“You don’t know what kind of music I like.”  
  


Oh, yes, one more thing she realized she actually didn’t know about the man. She amused herself for a brief moment by imagining what genres of music Wesley could possibly enjoy outside of classical and maybe jazz. Suddenly, she saw them.  
  


Alex didn’t know why she hadn’t caught it before. Maybe she just wasn’t looking hard enough, or with all of the other crap happening it hadn’t even registered. But now she saw it. Two pinholes: one in each of the man’s earlobes.  
  


“Your ears used to be pierced,” she said in a low tone.  
  


The evidence became even more obvious as the man’s ears grew red in embarrassment. Alex sat back and slapped a hand over her mouth. It would be inappropriate to laugh at him. Everyone was entitled to an emo phase, but Wesley? She tried to imagine him with chin-length hair and piercings. And, holy shit…  
  


“When you did get your tattoos?”  
  


Wesley shifted uncomfortably. “I got the sleeve when I was 19. And the rest when I was 20.”  
  


“Okay, so…” Alex giggled. “I’m assuming you weren’t in full emo get up while you were working for Papa.”  
  


“I did not say I was emo,” the man interjected, pointing a finger.  
  


“No, no, no. Excuse me.” She bit the tip of her thumb, still enjoying this mental image. “What was it? Nirvana? Radiohead? Please say Radiohead. Please tell me tiny James Wesley was sitting on his bed unironically singing along to ‘Creep’.”  
  


Wesley scowled. “This is why I don’t tell you anything.”  
  


Alex pouted and placed a hand over her heart. “That hurts. Friends can riff on each other. You need thicker skin.”  
  


The man’s gaze clearly asked her if she would like to try that sentence again. She sighed and rolled her eyes.  
  


“I think it’s nice that you’re not a stuck up nerd who thinks classical music is the only music worth listening to,” Alex explained. “It’s another fun puzzle piece.”  
  


That seemed to appease him, and Wesley noticeably relaxed. Of course, now Alex desperately wanted to ask what he listened to at the present, but she didn’t want to piss him off again. Instead, she removed the earbuds and opened her music app. The man’s eyebrows raised and Alex smiled.  
  


“I’m going to play what I want, but let me know if it’s too mainstream,” she said.  
  


“Only if I get to choose the music on the way back,” Wesley proposed.  
  


Alex nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes, I would—yes. That would be very amusing for me.”  
  


By the time the car dropped her off, Alex’s anxiety had almost completely faded. Wesley gave her something to look forward to at the end of the day—something besides locking herself in her bedroom. She couldn’t wait to hear what the man decided passed as music. His facial expressions had remained nearly motionless as she played song after song. There was a twitch at Panic! At The Disco but she didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. Further research would be necessary.  
  


“You’re going to be alright.”  
  


Alex nodded at Wesley. Yes, she was. This was nothing she couldn’t handle.  
  


“Your father has no expectations beyond you making passing grades,” Wesley said. “You don’t have to make friends if you don’t want to. Just take notes and complete your assignments and don’t threaten your teachers.”  
  


“Is that a common occurrence?” Alex asked.  
  


Wesley nodded towards her. “Maybe for you.”  
  


Alex reached across to smack his arm. “Asshole.”  
  


The driver, Lewis, opened the door now and Alex took a final composing breath before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Her building was just behind where she was being dropped off. It was nice to be close, but at the same time, now a lot of people were seeing her step out of a fancy car with a driver to hold the door.  
  


Kindly, Alex told Lewis, “I appreciate it, but next time I’ll get out on my own. Less suspicious.”  
  


Lewis nodded. “Understood. Have a good day, Miss Fisk.”  
  


“You too.”  
  


Something about the car door closing behind her made this feel more final. There was her stomach twisting again. She gripped the strap of her messenger bag and tried to breathe through her nose, out through her mouth. She could do this, she could do this.  
  


_ Wesley said I could do this _ .  
  


Alex took deliberate steps down the sidewalk, into the building, and into her classroom. There were nineteen other students enrolled, but at the moment there were only eight in the room and the professor who stood near a podium at the front of the room. She offered a friendly “hello” to Alex and the young woman returned it. Alex then found a seat farthest away and placed her bag on the floor. Sure, it was antisocial, but she genuinely didn’t know how she could handle more friends.

  
It was almost nerve-wracking having Taylor. Alex knew at some point the young woman was going to ask if she could come over. And if Patrick couldn’t visit, there was no way in hell her father was going to let a random friend visit. That was just one person she needed to keep somewhat distanced. How would she manage more?  
  


Slowly, the other students filtered in and at precisely 8:40, the class began. The professor moved around to position herself in front of the microphone.  
  


“All right, everyone. Good morning. This class is The Science of Psychology so if you are not taking that subject, you are in the wrong classroom.”  
  


Alex was tempted to pretend she was one of those people and leave. Her nerves were not going away.

  
“My name is Professor Jane Green. You may call me Mrs. Green, Professor Green, or Jane. I honestly don’t care.” The woman smiled brightly at everyone. “Now, to begin I’d like to make everyone uncomfortable with an icebreaker.”  
  


A couple of the other students placed their heads into their hands. These reactions seemed to amuse Mrs. Green and she moved over to her desk to retrieve an inflated beach ball.

  
“The game is simple. On each wedge, there is a question. You catch the ball, give us your name, answer the question nearest your left thumb, and then throw it to someone else. If the question is in anyway triggering to you, please feel free to pass or pick a different wedge. This is a psychology course, but I am not here to bring up your own personal trauma. Got it?”  
  


Everyone nodded. Mrs. Green threw the ball in Alex’s direction, but the student in front of her caught it instead. Alex breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  
  


“So, my name is Brandon. And the question says ‘what has been your favorite vacation?’” He thought for a moment, then answered. “My family went to Germany a few years ago.”  
  


“And what did you do there?” the professor asked.  
  


“Uh, the typical stuff. Brandenburg Gate, Reichstag. Not a tropical vacation, but I’m a nerd, so.” Brandon shrugged and turned around.  
  


Alex tried to signal with her eyes that he should  _ not _ throw the ball at her. He immediately did, and Alex hissed, “Judas.”  
  


“Name, please,” Mrs. Green said.  
  


“Uhh, hi, I’m Aleksandra. You can call me Alex.” She looked at the question near her left thumb. “What would people be surprised to find out about you?”  
  


_ I secretly live with my father while I attend school here because he has powerful enemies who would try to harm me if they knew I existed.  
  
_

“I lived in Russia for five years before immigrating to America,” Alex said. It was her go-to for those kinds of questions. People loved to interrogate her about life in Russia, nevermind she hardly had any memories of the place at that age.  
  


“What brought your family here?” the professor asked.  
  


“The economy was tanking and they wanted something different.” She chucked the ball towards the crowd of students to her right and then promptly tuned the rest of the icebreaker activity out.  
  


After class, the demon backstabber known as Brandon had the gall to speak to her and ask, “What part of Russia did you live in?”  
  


Alex stuffed her notebook and textbook into her messenger bag. “Moscow.”  
  


“Oh that’s cool.” He motioned to himself. “I’ve never been.”  
  


“Um.” Alex’s eyebrows pinched together as she tried to figure out what to even say to that. “It’s...fine.”  
  


“Cool.” Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “So, what class do you have next?”  
  


“Basic Drawing in, like, three hours.”  
  


“Oh! My class is at 1:10.”  
  


Her brain whirred as it tried to find a reason why he was saying this to her. Surely he wasn’t flirting? Then again, within three seconds he’d proved himself to be incapable of reading a situation. Alex shook her head and held up a hand.  
  


“I’m sorry. I have a Wesley.” Her eyes widened as she heard the words leave her mouth. No, no. She corrected herself, “I have a boyfriend.”  
  


Brandon frowned. “All right. I just thought we could hang out. You looked new too.”  
  


Alex sucked on her teeth, trying to decide if the universe personally hated her or if it was just a coincidental misalignment of stars. But then again, maybe having one person to watch her back while she was on campus would be good for her.   
  


“Fine,” she said. “Your class starts at 1:10?”  
  


“Yeah, and there’s a Starbucks down the street we could walk to,” Brandon said. “If that sounds okay? I’ll buy your coffee.”  
  


Alex shook her head. “No, I got it.”  
  


“Just as a friend.”  
  


_ Don’t get ahead of yourself, Brutus.  
  
_

“I mean, you can go ahead and save your money. I’m not exactly...hurting,” Alex explained.  
  


Brandon smirked. “Okay. Let’s just go and we can argue about who’s paying on the way there.”  
  


Alex followed him out of the hall, watching him with interest the entire time. He had just accepted her super weird comment. No question about what she meant. It was a perfect opportunity too.  
  


“You don’t want to know what that means?” she questioned.  
  


“Huh?” Brandon looked over at her. “Oh, no. I don’t really care. Wait, I mean… That’s your business is what I meant. Your finances. I don’t need to know.”  
  


Alex smiled to herself. Maybe one more friend who could mind their own business wouldn’t be too bad. Plus, she had seen the way he took notes and at the very least he would make a very good study buddy.  
  


A text came through and she opened it.  
  


**How’s it going?  
  
**

Alex sighed. Wesley had never texted first until now. That meant he had actually spent the past hour thinking about her, wondering about her. She tapped over to her conversation with Patrick. Nothing since the early morning “You got this :)”.  
  


_ Such bullshit.  
  
_

**I think I made another friend.  
  
**

**Good. Happy for you.  
  
**

She inhaled sharply and shoved her phone back in her pocket. Brandon looked over quizzically.  
  


“You okay?” he asked.  
  


The butterflies in her stomach said no, but the answer given was a casual: “Huh? Yeah. Great.”  
  


_ Just… great. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swear on my life, if you look at Wesley's ears in Daredevil, he has piercings. I 100% was not going to pass that opportunity up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten - Alex - September 4**

Mia had been born seven years after her older sister--two years after the move to America. She had also been a product of Katya and a handsome local, but this was different. This one had a normal life, a normal past, and a normal job. Oh, and this one stayed.

It was a fact Katya was loathe to admit to those who asked, but she had met Matthew Grady on Tinder. The first date had been far more fun than she’d anticipated, and it was a year later that Matt was moving into their apartment. Alex had made sure to size him up the first time Katya had introduced the man to her daughter. He was not large like Papa and he wore T-shirts and khakis. Yes, Matt was very,  _ very _ different than the father figure Alex was used to. 

But then she saw the way Matt held her mother’s hand while they walked through the lobby of the movie theatre, and she saw the way her mother laughed when Matt told a joke, and she saw how  _ happy _ her mother was when they said goodbye before getting into their respective cars. From the booster seat in the back, Alex gave her formal blessing of the relationship. Katya chuckled and thanked the six-year-old.

Five months later, they were being whisked to the type of house that engineers could afford, and Alex was getting hit with more information than she could process.

Matt lived with them now.

Mama and Matt were going to get married one day.

Mama was going to have a baby.

August 28th, Mia Grady was brought into the world. And Alex loved her immediately.

There were moments where the girls fought, or Alex wished--however briefly--that Mia had never been born. But at the end of the day, the sisters were thick as thieves and the seven year difference mattered none.

Since moving to New York City, Alex had kept in contact with her sister over social media and text. But she had made an effort to call her at least once a week, voice only or over FaceTime. There were inflections and nuances that were lost over written words. That’s why it stung so much more when Alex heard her little sister say:

“So, I saw Patrick with another girl yesterday.”

The fourteen-year-old sounded sad, like it pained her to have to relay this information to her sister, but there was no way out of it. Alex was keenly aware that she would have to control her reaction in such a way that Mia wouldn’t carry guilt over it.

She forced her voice to be casual as she asked, “Oh? Where did you see him?”

“They were walking out of a restaurant on Main,” Mia said. “They weren’t holding hands or anything though.”

“So maybe it’s a coworker,” Alex suggested. The weight on her heart lifted, but only slightly. She knew Patrick’s coworkers and there were only two other females: older women with husbands. “What did she look like?”

“Um, maybe around your age? Brown hair, long.”

No, that did not sound like either of the women. Alex took a deep breath. “Well, he did say there was a new hire. Maybe that’s who it was. Or an old friend. I’m not going to jump to any conclusions.”

“Okay,” Mia replied in a skeptical tone.

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” Alex said gently. “I miss you a lot.”

She could hear the smile behind her little sister’s words. “Yeah, no problem. I miss you too. Do you think your dad would let me visit sometime?”   


“Um.”

“I know there’s a lot of, uh, I don’t know. Shady stuff? But I am your sister.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “I can see. I had asked him about Patrick visiting and it didn’t go well. And I’m coming home for Thanksgiving break. We can handle two more months apart.”

Mia sighed. “I guess.”

“Speaking of Papa…” Alex looked over to the clock hanging on her wall. “We’re having family dinner in a minute. I’m going to go ahead and do that.”

“You don’t have family dinners every night?”

Memories of her time at home went through her mind. Every night was the same. Mama, Matt, Mia, and Alex around the table, discussing their days and plans for the next. Your typical nuclear family. Of course there was no reason not to continue just because she had moved away. Alex wondered what the table looked like with an extra empty chair. Was it different? Did they miss her?

“Papa’s busy a lot,” Alex said. “But we’re going to have family dinner every Thursday now.”

“What about Wesley?”

Alex glared as though the girl was in the room to see it. “Mia,” she warned.

The mischievous giggle that came through the speaker almost made Alex end the call. “I’m just  _ saying _ . He’s with your dad a lot. He should come to family dinners too.”

“The key word is ‘family’, Mia. They’re for me and Papa.” Alex looked to the ceiling, knowing that the next sentence was going to bring consequences. “Wesley’s just a friend.”

“Ooh,” Mia crooned delightedly. “You’re officially friends!”

“We’ve been friends. I just didn’t say anything because it’s not a big deal and also I knew you’d do that.”

“He’s cute.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Alex shot back.

“Maybe not for long.” There was a  _ clap _ on the other end, then a muffled “I am  _ so  _ sorry.”

Alex gave a heavy sigh. She blinked rapidly to keep the frustrated tears from falling. “Yeah, okay. I really need to go now. Bye, Mimi.”

Her sister’s voice was full of shame as she responded, “Bye, Sasha.”

After she hung up, Alex considered calling Patrick and asking for an explanation, but she didn’t know how that would go. If it was a misunderstanding, great. But if it wasn’t, the phone call could further ruin her mood and family dinner would be hijacked by her emotions. So she set down the phone on her nightstand and walked out to the dining room.

Despite his wealth, Papa never relied on a personal chef to make his food. It was either a restaurant or a home-cooked meal. The man had a control issue and Alex figured this was just one of the many ways it manifested. Thankfully, his cooking was good. Or, what Alex had tasted so far. The frequent late nights meant she cooked almost all of her meals.

The table was already set and food waiting when Alex moved into the dining area. Her father sat in his usual spot, and her plate sat in front of hers. Alex smiled when she saw her favorite food.

“Chicken manicotti,” she said as she slid into her chair. “How did you know?”

“I asked your mother,” Fisk admitted.

“Good idea.” Alex extended a hand towards him, then pulled back with an “oh”.

Fisk regarded her for a moment before asking, “Is everything okay?”

Alex bit her lip. In general, their family wasn’t super religious. Matt had stopped going to church long before meeting Katya, but Alex’s mother had grown up Russian Orthodox and kept up most traditions. Both girls had been baptized as infants, Christmas and Easter services were mandatory, and grace before family dinner was a habit.

That was gone now, she realized. Her father had never discussed religion, but she had a strong suspicion that the man did not believe in any sort of higher power. And it was anyone’s guess the last time he’d been in a church.

“We usually hold hands and say grace at home,” Alex explained quietly. “It was just a habit.”

Fisk lifted his hand. “Do you want—?”

“No,” Alex cut him off. She shook her head and picked up her fork, aggressively stabbing the pasta in front of her. “No, it’s fine.”

An awkward silence fell over the table. Alex shoved her bite of food into her mouth and pretended not to notice. She could’ve been far less rude, but the damage had been done. The message was conveyed.

Grace was for her other family. He was not a part of that family.

_ And now neither am I _ .

Thank you, intrusive thoughts. She told herself it wasn’t true at the same time her brain conjured the images of Matt, Mama, and Mia in their cozy dining room versus her and Papa in a sterile modern open concept space. She always missed home but now it ate at her gut.

“How was school?” Fisk asked, cutting the silence.

“Good,” Alex said. “I had Psychology and Basic Drawing.”

“And do you like those classes?”

Alex nodded. She felt herself get briefly irritated that she was having to repeat information. Then she realized it hadn’t been him she spoke to that first day, but Wesley. Her father had been out of the house when she’d returned home and they hadn't had a moment to catch up.

“Yeah. Basic Drawing is kind of a throwaway class. And I made a friend in Psychology who is  _ brilliant _ at note taking.”

“A friend?” Fisk repeated.

Alex smirked. “Didn’t think I’d make another?”

“No, that’s—”

“I’m kidding,” Alex said. “His name is Brandon. He’s a Humanities major.”

“Nice young man I presume.”

“Yes.”

Fisk nodded firmly. “Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“It’s the first week. Could still blow up.” Alex smiled so her father knew it was facetious. “I almost quit before I even started, but Wesley talked me out of it.”

Fisk tilted his head. “When was this?”

“The night before school started. I asked him to come over.”

The way her father stared and went back to eating signaled that she had made a mistake. It wasn’t too outrageous to think coming over after hours was perhaps  _ not _ professional.

“Please don’t say anything to him,” Alex begged.

“That’s not Wesley’s job,” Fisk said simply.

“Okay. That’s my fault.”

“He knows it’s not his job.”

_ But it’s what friends do _ .

Alex hadn’t considered what precisely would happen to Wesley if he wasn’t ‘professional’ but the tone in her father’s voice gave some idea.

“Anyway, school is hopefully going to continue being enjoyable. Or at least, it won’t devolve into being miserable.”

“How can I help you...avoid using Wesley as a confidante?” Fisk asked, ignoring her attempt at redirection.

“What?”

“Why did you feel the need to contact him?”

Alex wrinkled her nose. “I mean, beyond the fact that he’s the only one who has security clearance, I thought he had experience with how I was feeling. I was wrong. He told me he never went to university.”

Fisk nodded thoughtfully. “As you recall, my new penthouse is being built and will be done shortly.”

A strange follow up. She responded with a cautious “Yes?”

“Would you be interested in your own apartment in the same building?”

Her throat began to constrict. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Fisk said. “I want you to have your own space so you can feel free to invite friends. Or, have out-of-state visitors.”

He couldn’t even say Patrick’s name. Well, that one may not be a concern very soon.

"The penthouse is unlikely to be completed until the end of the semester at the earliest, but there is a possibility of yours being finished sooner.”

Great, three more months and she’d be booted out for taking up the assistant’s time. Her eyes began to smart as a bitter question rose from the depths she’d stuffed it in.

“Why don’t you want me?”

There was no immediate response. Whether it was from shock or the knowledge that she didn’t  _ really _ mean it, Alex wasn’t sure. The sigh that came from her father betrayed how deep the hurt was she had inflicted.  She went to try and to fix the situation, but before she could speak, Fisk cut in:

“Are you interested in the apartment or not?”

“Yes,” Alex said quietly. She couldn’t deny the pros of having her own place. And they substantially outweighed the cons.

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.”

“And so you know: I offered to stay.”

The lack of transition practically gave her whiplash. Alex blinked rapidly. “What?”

“When we found out your mother was pregnant, I offered to stay,” Fisk elaborated. “I did feel strongly for her. It would have been easy. She said no.”

_ What? _

“I went to Russia with her. I had my own business to conduct,” Fisk continued. His words picked up speed as he kept talking. “But for the month before your birth, I stayed with her, and for the month after. Then I asked again.”

“To marry her?”

“No, if she wanted me to stay and help raise you. Maybe we would have married later, but that wasn’t the point. I was ready to give up everything for you both.”  Fisk shook his head. “I’m not bringing this up to demonize your mother. I’m just being honest. I asked to stay. I offered to take you with me and let her continue her life. She said no. She wasn’t wrong for it. That’s simply what happened.

“So I did what I could. Money, gifts, what time I had. Whatever I could do to show you how much I loved you. I see now that it wasn’t enough.”

Alex’s mind was racing too fast to respond. It could’ve been different. It could’ve been Papa, Mama, and Sasha in a cozy dining room. For family dinner. After grace.

“What else can I do?” Fisk implored.

Alex shook her head. “This is fine. Dinner together. It’s enough.”

“And yet I feel you will just bring up something else later. So whatever you need to say, say it now.”

“Ignoring security issues, did you actually want me to live here?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. It was so instant and sincere that Alex felt all the weight lift off her chest. “And I apologize it has been so distressing for you.”

“Not distressing,” Alex denied. “I just felt like I was a burden.”

“Never.”

Alex bit her lip, trying to come up with any questions she’d buried deep within herself. His story had reinforced what she had hoped to be true: that her father was never avoiding her during her childhood. She could continue to believe that he was always doing the best he could. But then... “At any point was Wesley a replacement?”

“For you?” Fisk asked, surprised. “No, not at all. You were eight years old when I found him, and he was far from a child at that point.”

“Okay.” Alex nodded. “Okay, then, I think that’s it.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you have any questions for me? I think neither of us know each other very well anymore.”

“That’s a fair statement.”

“So?”

Fisk thought for a moment before saying, “Your boyfriend.”

Alex fought the urge to roll her eyes. He had been respectful of her questions and she needed to return the favor.

“How old were you when you met?”

“Seventeen.”

“And he was?”

“Twenty-one.”

The grip around the man’s fork tightened. “Your mother approved of this?”

“I didn’t tell her until after I was eighteen.” Alex shrugged and played stupid as she asked, “What’s the problem?”

“The inappropriate age gap.”

“We’re twenty-one and twenty-five.”

“ _ Now _ . Four years ago, you were a senior in high school and he was a college graduate,” Fisk said.

“Yes, lecture me about morals, Father. How I do enjoy it,” Alex drawled.

“My anger is not directed towards you.”

“He’s a  _ nice _ guy,” Alex insisted. She frowned after the words left her mouth. Why was she defending him? She wasn’t even sure that sentence was true anymore.

“And am I to hand you off to this ‘nice guy’?”

“We haven’t discussed marriage,” Alex said.

Fisk shook his head. “After four years, it hasn’t even been brought up. I don’t like it.”

She felt like a teenager being lectured. And at first, it annoyed her. But then a smile began to creep over Alex’s face. “Do you see what’s happening here?”

Her father waited in silence, so she explained, “This is a full-on ‘Dad vs teenager’ moment. This is a thing we missed out on. So in a strange way, we’re bonding.”

Fisk looked at her with suspicion. “You’re trying to distract me.”

Alex giggled. “A little, but it’s still true. This is a positive. A win.”

“A win,” Fisk repeated.

Alex lifted her glass that she’d hilariously found was filled with water instead of the wine her father was having. “To father-daughter bonding and future dramatic family dinners and you dropping this topic pretty please. Cheers!”

Fisk tapped his glass against hers, an amused smile playing across his face. “Cheers.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven - Wesley - September 17**

He meant it when he said he wasn’t going to sleep at the penthouse anymore. A couple of times Fisk offered him a place in the guest room, though the man seemed oddly reluctant to do so, but Wesley insisted he would prefer to sleep in his own bed. It clearly confused his employer, and even one night Alex had texted.

**Just stay here. I can hear the exhaustion in your voice.**

**Why are you even awake?**

**Mind your business and go to bed.**

He was no use to Fisk if he was dozing off throughout the day, so Wesley gave in and simply placed his gun across the room. He did not want to risk hurting the young woman. But as long as he was able to drive without causing an accident, he returned home no matter the hour.

And anyway, he did truly enjoy his apartment. It was small, not at all reflecting his paycheck. He could never afford a penthouse like Fisk, but he could do far better than his current residence. It didn’t matter to him. It was still a step up from the closets that passed as apartments in this filthy city.

Wesley chose something with at least one brick wall. He’d always wanted a brick wall, even as a child. It felt sophisticated in a charming bohemian way. He could nearly see Central Park from his living room window. When he left his home, there was an Italian restaurant to the right that was surprisingly good, and a liquor store to the left that carried his favorite beer. Little things that made the city bearable.

Tonight, he wasn’t exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go home, wash the city off his skin, and fall into his own bed. He would crack the window to let the smell of Pomodoro’s creep in, and the white noise of the busy streets would soothe him to sleep. It was next to perfect.

As he approached his door, a raspy voice asked, “Late night date?”

Wesley threw a smile to the asker. Every apartment building had one nosy tenant, and his came in the form of a woman in her seventies that he respectfully called Mrs. McMahon. She stood in the hallway outside her door, dressed in a purple tracksuit and holding an e-cigarette. Sometimes Wesley wanted to ask the neighbors if they saw her too or if she was some sort of hallucination or cryptid only interested in haunting him.

“I didn’t know you stayed up this late, Mrs. McMahon,” Wesley replied. He was never rude to her. If he was honest, it was nice to know somebody in this building might notice his absence if something fatal were to happen.

The woman smiled. “Well, I also had a date. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Wesley said sincerely. There was someone for everyone, even the weirdos. He put his door key in the lock and worked on turning it.

“What’s she look like?”

Wesley gave a questioning hum.

“Your girlfriend. What’s she look like? Must be really nice if you wear a suit to see her.”

Wesley shook his head and motioned to his outfit. “These are work clothes, Mrs. McMahon. I had a long day. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No, Mrs. McMahon.”

The woman tutted. “Nice young man like you. Shame.”

Wesley wanted to roll his eyes, but didn’t have the energy. It wasn’t the first time she had made that comment, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was never funny. He pushed into his apartment and let his body relax.

And then his cell phone buzzed.

He had only been angry at Fisk a handful of times, but never  _ ever  _ expressed it. That was unthinkable given all the man had done for him. Even now, he wasn’t really angry--just frustrated. Wesley had finally finished the last of his employer’s errands. If the text had come in just a half hour earlier, he wouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He took a settling breath so he could respond to the call with the voice of someone eager to follow direction. To his surprise, the caller ID did not say his employer’s name.

_ Persephone _

“Hello?”

“Where are you at?” Alex practically snapped.

Wesley’s eyebrows pinched together. “I just got home. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Can you come get me? I’m at home.”

There was something off with her voice, but Wesley couldn’t quite pinpoint it. And furthermore, he didn’t understand why she felt the need to speak to him in a snapping manner.

“You have to,” she pressed.

The corners of his mouth tugged down. Nothing was explicitly said to him, but Fisk had casually mentioned one day that he was happy Alex had a new friend and that now she’d have someone else to confide in. Somehow the employer had been tipped off about Wesley and Alex’s friendship, and he was not amused. Picking Alex up after hours would amuse his employer even less, and the young woman knew this.

“No, I really don’t,” Wesley said. “It’s eleven thirty and I just ended my day.”

“You’re getting paid to protect me.”

“I’m getting  _ paid _ ,” Wesley drawled, “to escort you to school. That’s two days from now, Your Highness.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why the hell did he say that?

A pause. Then sniffling. Wesley’s stomach dropped. “Miss Fisk?”

“Look,” she continued, voice warbly. “I just really need someone right now and Taylor has an early shift and I don’t want to wake her up.  _ Please _ .”

He could’ve brought up that she hadn’t considered if he had to wake up early. But that would’ve brought up more unnecessary bickering. “Fine,” Wesley conceded. “I’ll be there in 30. I have to get out of this suit.”

“Thank you, Wesley.”

The man sighed. It was always the sincere, appreciative voice that made him melt. If she hadn’t used it, it would’ve been easier to remain irritated. After a quick “of course”, he ended the call and went right to work hurrying into casual clothes.

Mrs. McMahon had not left her spot on the wall. When Wesley exited into the hallway, she whistled.

“Those aren’t work clothes,” she called. “Tell them I said hi.”

Oh, Alex had already heard plenty of tales about his neighbor and laughed hard at all of them. Wesley offered a simple smile, choosing not to feed into it. “Goodnight, Mrs. McMahon.”

Thirty minutes later, Alex was waiting in the garage for him, arms wrapped around herself in a hug as she did when she was upset. Dressed in a tank top and sweatpants with elephants, she was clearly not interested in trying to look put together. Wesley wasn’t sure why he had assumed Alex would turn into some socialite’s daughter, wearing fancy outfits and a full face of makeup 24/7. She had never once wore anything more than light makeup, and she had once called him to ask what kind of wine paired best with chicken nuggets.

When he pulled up, Alex ducked to see him under the roof of his car. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can we just park somewhere? Not here. Somewhere out of the way.”

Wesley noted how her face was splotchy and nose faintly red. “Sure,” he said.

Alex stood up and waited a few moments. Wesley unlocked the car doors, and she ducked back down. “In _ your _ car?”

It broke protocol in a million different ways, and they both knew that. Wesley also knew that each business car had a tracking device and the gas usage was monitored. There was no way to take it out of the garage without someone knowing and asking questions.

“Yeah.” Wesley waved her closer. “Come on.”

Once she was settled in, they exited the garage, Alex’s head ducked to hide her face from the window. Dressed in casual wear, Wesley briefly mused on how they would look like an average couple. They could have walked out of the garage hand-in-hand and no civilian would have been the wiser. With a slight shake of his head, he removed the thought.

He’d had those thoughts far more than appropriate as of late. It turns out that’s what happens when you spend more and more time talking with someone you’ve found attractive since Day One. He tried to push them away, but then she’d send a funny message or post a picture on Instagram.

That was another addition to his life. Alex had introduced him to the world of social media and Internet slang he had never once paid attention to. Obviously he knew it existed. But he had no use for any of it, save the one time he needed to locate her. Alex thought his naivete was hilarious and would gently tease him every time she had to explain a new word. It was somewhat maddening, but he wanted to be able to connect with her.

It didn’t take very long to find an alley to park in. People very much minded their own business in New York anyway, but Wesley could tell this conversation was going to require seclusion. He shifted the car into park and waited patiently.

It took a little while, but eventually she mumbled, “W’ ha’ f’t.”

Not even close to English. Wesley leaned towards her. “What?”

Louder this time, she repeated, “We had a fight. Me and Patrick.”

Wesley fell back onto his chair and stared out the windshield. She’d dragged him out of his apartment for this, something that could have been a phone call or text. Is this what friends did? Normal friends? Friends who weren’t crime lords or scrappy homeless teenagers? It had been years since he’d had a person in his life who didn’t have the survival instincts of a cornered animal. What does one say when their friend has a fight with their douchebag boyfriend you hate for no real reason?

He tried a simple “I’m sorry” and then “What was it about?”

Alex sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Basically, he’s pissed that I’m not giving him all of my attention. I think it bothers him that I have friends here and I’m not texting him back immediately. And, I gave up on asking Papa to let him visit and he didn’t like that very much. And the entire call he wouldn’t stop accusing me of cheating on him with--.”

Wesley wrinkled his nose when she abruptly stopped. “With who?” Then he saw the way her jaw had suddenly set and eyes shut.

_ Oh _ .

Wesley tried to steady his breath. This was hilarious but he did not want to laugh when she was in distress. Holy hell, he actually made that asshole nervous.

“I think it’s because of that one time you walked up to me in the park while I was on the phone with him.” Alex fixed him with an annoyed stare. “It’s almost like inviting him to visit over the summer would’ve been a good idea.”

“It’s almost like you’re dating a paranoid child,” Wesley said in the same sarcastic tone. “Did he ever ask you to just come home one more time before your classes started?”

“No.”

“Maybe he’s cheating on  _ you _ .”

And immediately, Wesley regretted the words. Alex’s face twitched and eyes blinked rapidly like she was holding back tears.

“Ah, fuck.” Wesley sighed and moved to touch her hand. But then...maybe that was weird considering the situation, so he pulled back. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But that would make sense,” Alex said in a strained voice. “Oh my god, you’re right. He’s got that new hire that started. Which he didn’t tell me was a girl. I had to look on the office’s website.” She rubbed her forehead. “Mia told me she’d seen them together. Oh my god I’m so stupid.”

“I don’t actually think he’s cheating on you,” Wesley interrupted. “I was just being a prick.” He reached over and opened the glove compartment. “There’s napkins in there.”

“Thank you.” She grabbed one and dabbed her eyes.

Wesley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Look, I’ll be honest. I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I’ve never had to be this kind of friend before.”

“I thought you were friends with Papa.”

“He doesn’t cry over boys,” Wesley teased. He smirked at the young woman’s soft laugh. “I’ve never seen him cry at all, actually.”

“Well clearly I cry enough for the both of us,” Alex said. She looked to him, as if gauging his reaction, waiting for him to mock her.

Wesley half-shrugged. “Don’t feel bad. Strong emotions is just a Fisk trait. Goes back a few generations. Even your grandmother’s still got some sass in her.”

“What?” The young woman’s eyebrows pinched. “You knew my grandparents?”

“I know your  _ grandmother _ .”

“Right, but what do you mean ‘know’?”

Wesley froze. There was no way this could be happening to him right now. Maybe she was simply surprised he had met her.

“Is she not dead?” Alex squeaked.

Wesley rested his forehead on the steering wheel and began practicing how he would defend himself to Fisk.  _ Sir _ ,  _ I didn’t know you had hidden her grandmother from her _ .  _ I was not told it was a secret _ ,  _ and it was not obvious to me _ .

“Wesley.” A hand rested on his back. When he didn’t respond, Alex clucked her tongue. “Wesley, as you are aware, I’m very good at being annoying. Which is why you have two choices: tell me what you know or deal with me asking you again and again and again and again--”

“Please shut up,” Wesley groaned.

“Let’s just talk about this like sensible humans,” Alex suggested. “And by that, I mean go to a bar and get those lips loosened up a bit.”

“We cannot be seen at a bar together.”

“Okay, then let’s go buy some liquor and play Truth or Drink. Then you’ll  _ definitely _ be too blitzed to lie.”

Wesley lifted his head. “What the hell is Truth or Drink?”

“I’m going to ask you a question and you--” Alex patted his back “--are going to have to choose between telling me the truth or taking a shot.”

“That’s not a real game.”

“Of course it is.”

Wesley stared into her eyes and found a response in the form of a steely gaze. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“I could just drive you home and kick you out of the car.”

“I would advise against that.”

“Jesus Christ, I have to  _ drive _ .”

Alex grinned wickedly. “Go back to the parking garage. If you really want to sleep in your own bed, I guess you’ll have to tell the truth. Or, hell, explain to Papa how you ended up in the guest room. I don’t care either way.”

There had to be some way to get out of this. Wesley could not think of a worse game to play with his boss’ daughter. Okay, he could, but this was a different kind of stakes. He’d already messed up once. If he said something else she was not supposed to know….

“I’ll tell Papa I know about my grandmother.”

_ Brat _ .

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the parking garage with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass purchased from a local store. Alex placed the bottle in the cup holder between them and handed the shot glass to him.

“Let the games begin,” she said.

Wesley shook his head. “Don't make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Alex corrected. “I’m blackmailing you. What you do after that is up to you.”

_ Like father _ ,  _ like daughter _ .

“You’re a bad friend,” Wesley mumbled.

Alex pointedly ignored him. “My mom told me that my grandfather died and my grandmother wasn’t around anymore."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

“No, the question is: is my grandmother alive?”

“Yes,” Wesley confirmed. It sent a chill down his spine. A simple question he had more or less answered earlier, but saying it outright felt like an utter betrayal. Fisk trusted him with this information, and here he was giving it up because his “friend” was blackmailing him. Alex stared at him, waiting, but Wesley shook his head. Concise answers only.

The young woman narrowed her eyes. “So we’re doing it that way. Next question: where is my grandmother?”

“A care facility upstate.”

“Why is she in a care facility?”

“She has dementia,” Wesley explained. “It’s not severe yet, but she requires special care.”

Her expression fell. “Why did Papa never tell me?”

“Your father pays a lot of people a lot of money to make sure no one knows your grandmother is alive.” Wesley motioned to her. “You of all people should not be surprised by that.”

“Alright,” Alex conceded. “Next question: is my grandfather alive?”

“No.”

“When did he die?”

“Before you were born.”

Alex nodded. “How old was Papa?”

“Young.” It was a cheap answer, but she let it go.

“How did he die?” 

“What were you told?”

“I wasn’t told anything.” Alex’s mouth pulled to one side. “I don’t even know if Mama knew. So, what’s the answer?”

He grabbed the bottle and took a shot. They had reached a line he wasn’t willing to cross. Years of friendship with Fisk superseded three weeks with her. Wesley knew the truth, or at least the basics. It wasn’t something to share without Fisk’s consent.

“That is your father’s business,” Wesley said. His tone was deliberate, but not harsh. “I wouldn’t advise asking him either. So, are we done?”

“No. Why would he tell you and not me?” Alex asked. “I’m family.”

A pain went through Wesley’s chest. He immediately tried to console himself. She didn’t mean it like that. She was referring to a biological connection. And obviously, he had Fisk’s trust, so being family had nothing to do with it.

“I don’t know,” Wesley said tersely. “You’re not alone. He keeps secrets from everyone.”

Alex shook her head. “Not you.”

“Yes, I’m sure there are plenty of things he hasn’t told me,” Wesley insisted.

“If he’s told you about the three most important people in his life, then what else of substance could he possibly be hiding from you?”

Wesley’s breath hitched. There were plenty of things he and Fisk hadn’t discussed, but that didn’t necessarily mean the man kept secrets. Only that in thirteen years it hadn’t come up. Wesley wasn’t exactly nosy, so if Fisk didn’t want to talk about something, he simply didn’t.

“You’re lucky,” Alex said firmly. “In some ways you’re closer to him than I am.”

“I’m not family,” Wesley countered.

“It doesn’t seem to matter to him, clearly.” Her voice elevated slightly, revealing the disappointment in her heart. “I guess I haven't been asking him the right questions.”

Wesley didn’t know what that meant, so he kept silent.

“You’ve got your Boys Club, huh? I bet he knows plenty of your secrets too.”

The disappointment had morphed into something more snarky. A tone that signaled she wasn’t done with the game yet, and the spirit intended had changed.

“Does he know where you’re from?” she shot.

“Yes.”

“Does he know where your parents are?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know you have nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know what they’re about?”

“I’m sure he has an idea.”

“Ah, so some secrets,” Alex said sarcastically. “Does he know what your tattoos mean?”

“What are you trying to do? We weren't supposed to be talking about me,” Wesley snapped.

“We are now,” Alex seethed, “because for someone who supposedly doesn’t replace me, you seem to know an awful lot more about  _ my _ family history.”

“What?!”

“Did he tell you about me right away?”

“No, you were thirteen.”

“And you never told anyone?” Her head tilted. “Not even a guard?”

“No,” Wesley scoffed. “I would never break your father’s trust like that. Which I thought you had gathered by now. Additionally, I was not going to put you in danger.”

A sharp laugh broke out from Alex’s mouth. “See, that’s one more thing. Why would I be in danger? Who’s trying to hurt me? These are questions no one ever tried to answer. A lot of ‘just trust me’ and ‘don’t worry about it’. Well, I am worried about it!”

“You told me on the roof you didn’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to know who you funneled money to this week or who you shot or whatever the hell it is you two get up to during the day,” Alex shot back. “I know you’re criminals. Everyone has been very clear about that.”

“You’re in danger because people in this field often can’t afford to have people they care about,” Wesley explained. “Not to say they don’t. But it’s a big risk. Your father is trying to do something that is going to change a lot around this city and anger a lot of people. We don’t want those people finding a weakness.”

“What about you?”

Wesley shook his head. “I’m not a weakness.”

“No,” Alex said. She poked his arm as she emphasized, “I’m asking if  _ you _ have a weakness. Someone you care about.”

_ You _ .

“No,” Wesley answered robotically.

“What about your family?”

Wesley closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the rage and sadness that always pulled at him when his parents were mentioned. Memories clawed at his insides and only served to make him miserable.

“I do not want to talk about my family,” Wesley said through gritted teeth. “And I would like to end this game now.”

“I talk to you all the time and you can’t even tell me about your  _ family _ ?”

“Your nervousness about university is  _ not _ the same as past trauma and I don’t know you well enough for that conversation.” He opened his eyes to see hers--blue and angry, like an ocean ready to drown him. “Go ahead and think I’m an asshole, but it’s true and you know it. There are things you don’t want to tell me either.”

“You don't know that. Go ahead,” she encouraged, her voice tense. “Ask me something.”

“What do you love more: your father or the things he buys you?”

Alex’s jaw dropped.

“Did you truly not answer his calls because you were upset or because you liked the power of making him squirm?”

“How the hell did--?”

“Are you jealous of Mia?” Wesley knew that one would sting, and he didn’t know why he said it. Coming out here had been a mistake. If she wasn’t going to cry about Patrick, she sure as hell was going to cry about him.

“What do you mean?” Alex whispered.

“She has both parents. Normal parents.  _ Good _ parents,” Wesley elaborated. “Are you secretly jealous of Mia?”

Alex paused, mouth agape for a moment before closing. Her eyes darted around the car like she was searching for the answer in the upholstery. “I don’t know.”

“You do,” Wesley said. “What you don’t know is if you can trust me enough to not judge you or tell your father.” He pointed to the bottle. “So go ahead and take three shots.”

“No. No, I don’t need to.” She sat straight, gripped her knees, and began.

“When I was a child—a small child—the gifts were how I knew Papa existed. So yes, I loved them more, and he wasn’t a parent so much as he was...a mysterious, weird Santa Claus. Things are obviously different now, and I’m offended that you would consider otherwise. And yes, I ignored his calls because I was genuinely mad. Your business is not legal, no matter the reasoning behind it. I had to make a choice at  _ fourteen years old _ if I was going to be okay with that or not. And I did choose. I took the phone from my mom and I chose.”

Wesley didn’t move, afraid that even a simple twitch would spook the young woman as she went on with her speech.

“And maybe I am jealous of Mia,” Alex admitted. “Whether Mama is good is relative. She’s lied to me by omission just as much as Papa and for less reason. But for everything else, yes, I am jealous of my sister.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and Wesley saw the action now for what it was: creating a protective shell. That was all of the introspection he was going to get for the night. Perfectly fine, because he had no idea what to do with the information he had just been given anyway. He warred against the decision to stay in his own shell or reciprocate the honesty. Perhaps it was only fair.

“I’m from Connecticut. Hartford, specifically.”

Her eyes were on him again. Wesley gave her a moment to jump in, but Alex remained silent.

“Both of my parents are dead,” he continued. “Mom was killed in a car crash when I was nine. My father died in a house fire when I was twenty. My nightmares are about my childhood.”

Wesley turned in his seat so she could see his left arm and pointed to the ink. “Roses were my and Mom’s favorite flower. The clock marks the time she died. Dove has maternal symbolism, and also peace.” He tapped his chest. “The clock here marks the time my father died. No extra flourishes because he doesn’t even deserve the clock.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alex rasped.

“Now we’re tied three for three,” Wesley said. He pushed his fingers through his hair and loudly sighed. “Maybe I’m not the best person to call when you need to be comforted.”

Alex shrugged. “I mean, I’m not crying about Patrick. So, I guess this was oddly effective.”

Wesley was immediately annoyed again by the mention of that idiot’s name. “It’s ridiculous that he doesn’t trust you, by the way. It’s only been three months. Military couples are apart for longer.”

“Yeah, I think something else is going on,” Alex said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I want to ask, but I don’t want to lose him. It’s hard to let go of something you’ve had for so long.”

“But maybe it would be for the best.” 

The young woman nodded. “Well, I guess I’d better let you go home.” She pushed the car door open and stepped out. “You can keep the vodka.”

Wesley smiled. “I paid for it.”

Alex nodded to the side and chuckled softly. “I guess you’re right.”

Before she could close the door, Wesley quickly stammered, “N-not to insult your intelligence, but maybe this time you could not tell your father about tonight.”

“No.” The young woman shook her head. “No, I won’t.”

She reached back into the car with her pinky finger extended and Wesley smirked, but wrapped his pinky around hers.

“Pinky promise,” Alex said seriously.

“Holding you to it.”

A final goodbye, and the young woman was shutting the door and walking back towards the entrance into the building. Wesley leaned his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d actually let her into his car. And all the things he told her. Would she actually keep her mouth shut?

It seemed every time they were together he revealed more and more of himself. It hadn’t happened in so long, actually letting himself open up to another person. The vulnerability of it all -- after he got passed the initial uncomfortableness -- was almost a relief. Like he was pushing more and more weight off of his shoulders. He felt like a real person around her, not just a paid suit. He felt  _ seen _ .

It was a feeling he wanted to get used to.


End file.
